


Sway Your Hips to the Beat of My Heart

by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Drama, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, Lap Sex, Lapdance, M/M, Pole Dancing, Public Sex, Romance, Sex for Money, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Strip Tease, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 21:51:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles/pseuds/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames’ boss has an odd sense of humour, or an odder sense of social etiquette. As Eames spends a week in a high-end strip club to observe a mark he will be forging for their next job, Eames’ boss decides to buy him some entertainment to keep him from getting bored. This entertainment comes in the form of a stripper by the name of Arthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sway Your Hips to the Beat of My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> **You can check out[here](http://onewhositswiththeturtles.tumblr.com/) to follow my Tumblr for info about me and story updates.**
> 
> Posted in response to Joseph Gordon-Levitt's performance on SNL Sept 22, 2012 ;-)

Eames settled down into the soft black leather of his chair – his new home for the next six nights. He would be frequenting this high-end strip club for the next week, pretending to watch the stage while he actually watched the bar directly on his right. His chair was tucked into the corner of the main floor, tables and chairs scattered around the polished wooden stage attached to the far wall and protruding out into the sea of hungry observers.

 

The secondary floor was for more aloof observers; a platform raised three steps above the main floor and separated with a black iron railing as it curled around the three walls surrounding the stage. Through the railing Eames had a perfect view of the bar and, more importantly, the head barman who was involved with some deadly dealings under the table. In this position Eames could observe unrushed, shadowed and out of Brian’s main line of attention.

 

Just as Eames found the perfect position for the cushions to pull him back, hug him close, he noticed his boss approaching from the left side of the club. Eames was a little wary but wouldn’t comment, even though he could see the shimmering curtains along the left wall hiding semi-private rooms for generous customers. However, Eames did raise an eyebrow when he noticed someone else trailing behind Larry, mostly hidden from view.

 

“Eames,” Larry greeted cheerfully. Eames masked his wince at having his name spoken aloud. It was a fake name, true, but one he preferred in his profession. He hated working with unprofessional people and Eames silently swore to himself to ditch Larry as soon as his old debt was repaid. “I bought you something to keep you from getting bored,” Larry continued on, oblivious or uncaring of his slip and Eames’ subsequent discomfort.

 

Eames watched as Larry stepped aside to reveal a young man, maybe only a few years younger than Eames since he looked to be early twenties. He could only assume that the man standing in front of him was a dancer of the club with Larry’s proclamation of ‘buying’ him, but it took Larry giving him an impatient nudge from behind for the dancer to step forward.

 

Eames indulged for a moment, taking in the body standing before him. The dancer had a black mop of hair that looked like it had originally been combed back, then made dishevelled, and finally combed back again with fingers. The rest of him looked prim and proper though. His body was lithe beneath the trim cut of his suit, waistcoat hugging a narrow waist. When Eames glanced up he noticed the sharp line of the man’s mouth, and the sharper, dark eyes scanning him in return.

 

Forcing himself to look past the dancer standing expectantly in front of him, Eames glared at Larry. “I don’t need an incentive. Nor do I appreciate a distraction.”

 

“Oh just have fun with him,” Larry gave the dancer another push forward and Eames caught the brief scowl that passed over the young man’s face. “He’s already paid for. I’ll expect a report Sunday morning.”

 

And with that Larry was disappearing toward the exit. Eames sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, praying for patience. When he dropped his hand and looked back up he saw that the dancer was still standing in front of him, staring expectantly. “What exactly did he pay for?” Eames asked, dreading the answer.

 

The dancer shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I’m supposed to keep you company until closing at 2am,” he explained, though Eames knew there was a lot more insinuated with the word _company_. “And he paid for a lap dance.”

 

“Look, I mean no personal offence because you’re quite lovely to look at,” Eames offered, getting rather uncomfortable with the dancer just standing over him. “But I would really rather avoid any distractions tonight.”

 

“Distractions,” the dancer repeated, stepping closer until he stood between Eames’ legs, forcing his knees apart. “You’re in a strip club with a paid-for dancer. What could I possibly be distracting you from?” Immediately Eames went tight-lipped, unwilling to give any more away. Just because Larry was a moron didn’t mean Eames had to be one as well. However, the dancer seemed to take Eames’ silence as surrender and crawled up into Eames’ lap. “I insist.”

 

Eames did his best not to shiver at the rich purr of the man’s voice, the warmth of his body pressing close. “Why?” Eames questioned. “Shouldn’t you be happy to get paid without having to do any work?”

 

He caught the dancer’s quick glance over one shoulder up to the balcony overlooking the club. Eames could read the wariness in those intelligent brown eyes, and could feel the tension in his thighs where they straddled Eames’ lap. “No reason,” the young man promised a moment later, turning back with a practiced smile. “Maybe I just think you’re lovely to look at too.”

 

Eames pondered for a moment, considering the dancer’s reactions. He had done some research on the club before settling himself for his reconnaissance mission, so he knew that the owner always hosted high-profile businessmen and politicians up in the balconies. Eames didn’t know who the dancer was scared of, but there was obviously someone he was trying to please and it wasn’t Eames. “That’s sweet of you,” Eames smiled, doing his best to brush away his annoyance and discomfort in case anyone was watching. “But it’s because you’d get in trouble if you didn’t perform, right?”

 

The man’s smile dropped, though he didn’t pull away. “What gave you that impression?”

 

“I can read people,” Eames said simply. He moved his hands from the chair’s armrests to hold the dancer’s hips. “What’s your name?” he asked softly.

 

The dancer hesitated. “Arthur.”

 

“Well, Arthur,” Eames tested out the name on his tongue, gripping suit-clad hips a little tighter and pulling Arthur closer in his lap. “Let’s keep you from getting in trouble, shall we?”

 

He could have pushed Arthur off and sent him away; it was no business of his if the owner punished his dancers. But that thought left Eames feeling a little tense, and he reasoned that this wasn’t the worst hindrance he could face. Eames still had another five nights in the club, and having a dancer with him might even make him less obvious and out of place to anyone paying attention. He could just be a desperate businessman in the city for a week.

 

Arthur rested his hands on Eames’ shoulders and hooked his knees against Eames’ hips, finding a solid base for himself. “Is there anything in particular you like?” Arthur questioned against Eames’ jaw, breath warm.

 

Eames chuckled so that he wouldn’t moan instead. “Do you always ask your clients for hints?”

 

Arthur pulled away just enough that Eames could see the smile quirking one corner of his lips. “No. But you’re not exactly a normal client, are you?”

 

“I’m normal enough to appreciate your skills,” Eames admitted, feeling a little bold as he slid his hands up to feel the curve of Arthur’s waist under his burgundy waistcoat. “Is there any particular reason why you’re dressed to fit in at a bank?”

 

Arthur glanced down at himself, taking in his own attire. “Many clients who come here like suit attire,” Arthur explained, looking back to Eames and leaning a little closer. Eames choked on a breath as Arthur began swaying his hips in a slow, teasing circle. “The others can pay to remove the clothing.”

 

Eames hummed, glad his lap dance didn’t involve a strip tease since he wouldn’t be able to decide whether he wanted the clothes to stay on or off. “So what are the rules? Can I touch you?” he traced his fingers up Arthur’s side teasingly.

 

Arthur shivered pleasantly in Eames’ lap. “Yeah,” he agreed, beginning to rotate his hips with more purpose. “Just not under my clothes.”

 

Deciding that it would be a shame to waste this opportunity, Eames allowed his fingers to skim over Arthur’s body while the dancer moved against him. He spread the expanse of his palms along Arthur’s thighs and back but then traced each finger holding his shoulders with the tips of his own, taking in details. Eames realized quite quickly that Arthur was skilled at what he did, moving his warm weight against Eames again and again at just the angle and pressure Eames needed to feel his skin tingle.

 

“You’re good at this,” Eames murmured at one point, suddenly noticing how much he missed hearing Arthur’s voice. The dancer was intelligent and intriguing, and Eames wanted to hear his thoughts, know his mind.

 

Arthur shrugged nonchalantly. “Practice.”

 

“How long have you been doing this?” Eames’ curiosity got the best of him.

 

“Those sorts of answers would ruin the mood, I think,” Arthur skirted the question. Before Eames could say another word, Arthur rocked his hips forward with determination, pressing his crotch directly against Eames’ and causing him to curse under his breath. Eames felt fingers brush his lips before Arthur was winding his arms more solidly around Eames, bringing them chest to chest. “Just enjoy,” Arthur gave a breathy sigh into his ear.

 

“Arthur,” Eames groaned back, moaning more obviously when he slid his fingers down Arthur’s spine and caused Arthur to arch against him in response.

 

“I like it when you say my name,” Arthur said, pulling back enough to meet Eames’ gaze.

 

“Yeah?” Eames prodded, dropping his hands to grip Arthur’s hips and pull him forward with a little more force.

 

Arthur nodded and smirked. “Yeah.”

 

Eames’ attention was caught by Brian – the main barman – slipping behind the counter to start his shift. Although he knew enough not to stare openly at his mark, he was aware of his attention splitting between Arthur and the bar, keeping tabs on both. Except Arthur didn’t seem to like being ignored because after only a few seconds Eames felt the dancer thrust forward demandingly, grinding his clothed erection against Eames.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Eames moaned, holding Arthur tight against his body and thrusting up in return. He had been half hard in his pants for the last ten minutes while Arthur swayed, but now he was very hard and _very_ interested. “I don’t think lap dances are supposed to go this far,” Eames groaned, panting slightly.

 

Arthur threaded his fingers into Eames’ hair and pulled back slightly, rocking his hips forward more solidly as he mouthed at Eames’ neck. “Maybe I want to prove how good I am,” Arthur smirked against his skin. “And ruin your poorly-fitted excuse of a pair of pants.”

 

“My pants—” Eames gasped quietly when Arthur rutted down a little harder. “—are fine.”

 

“They’re atrocious,” Arthur argued, leaning back so that their eyes locked as Arthur rode against Eames’ straining length. “As is your sexy talk.”

 

“Sexy talk?” Eames laughed breathlessly. “Isn’t that your job?”

 

Arthur’s lips twitched with a smile. “You’re not making it easy.”

 

“You’re insulting me,” Eames accused playfully. “Maybe I should report you to your manager.” Arthur’s whole body – previously loose and fluid – tensed up and hesitated. Eames glanced up in time to see the fear in Arthur’s eyes. “I won’t,” Eames promised quickly. Arthur nodded and offered his practiced smile. “I was only joking.”

 

Fear turned into mild anger. “Well don’t joke about it,” Arthur growled in warning and then began moving again once Eames nodded his agreement. Their movements were calculated and contained, harsh and desperate as they moved against one another while hidden in shadows. Despite angering Arthur, Eames still seemed to be allowed to hold his hips and drag him forward, thrusting up so that their bodies clashed in the best way. “Are you going to come for me?”

 

“ _Yeah_ ,” Eames groaned, nearly holding Arthur still now as he rutted up against Arthur’s body. “But I want you to come for me first.” Arthur made a quick noise of protest but Eames cut him off with a wink. “The customer is always right, darling.”

 

Defeated by choice, Arthur leaned forward and rested his forehead against Eames’ shoulder, panting against Eames’ collarbone and moaning under his breath. Eames continued to clutch at Arthur’s hips, moving their bodies together and dragging their covered cocks against each other. He knew Arthur was at the edge when he felt every muscle hidden beneath that suit tense and arch against him. Arthur’s panting filled his ears right before he heard a weak, stuttered “ _Eames_!” as Arthur spasmed and bit down on the collar of Eames’ jacket to muffle his scream.

 

The sound of Arthur whispering his name and the feel of Arthur’s orgasm was enough to tip Eames over the edge as well. He only managed a fleeting worry over bruising Arthur’s hips with his grasp before his mind and body was consumed with fire. His hips jerked up again and again, painting his seed against his boxers and leaving him with a hollow desire to fill Arthur’s body instead. But he brushed the thought aside as he held Arthur close, moving his hands from Arthur’s hips to wind around his middle.

 

Eames allowed Arthur to rest against him for a few minutes, their bodies shuddering and calming together. Then, once he was sure they had both recovered, he nudged Arthur back slightly. Arthur gave a grunt of confusion but stood on shaky legs. “Go get cleaned up and then come back if you want.” Arthur’s cheeks were still flushed as he nodded. “Oh, and what do you drink?” Eames thought to ask.

 

“I don’t drink,” Arthur said. Eames sent him a look. “I’m not _allowed_ to drink,” Arthur clarified.

 

“I’m sure the owner would be happy that I’m spending extra money on you,” Eames reasoned, sending Arthur a wink.

 

Arthur hesitated and then smiled mischievously. “Scotch.”

 

Eames nodded and watched Arthur saunter away before he pulled himself out of his chair. He threw his coat across the chair, not wanting it to get taken, and made his way quickly to the washrooms. A few clients glanced up at him as he passed but no one looked scandalized; either they hadn’t noticed their quiet romp or they didn’t care. In the washroom Eames did his best to salvage his boxers since he had another three hours in the club that night.

 

After that, Eames made his way to the far side of the bar. He made sure to have his back turned to the rest of the bar, getting served by someone other than Brian just to avoid his mark taking note of his face since Eames would be hanging around for a few days. He got two glasses of scotch and sat back down in his chair, please that it and his jacket hadn’t been nicked. For another ten minutes Eames sat alone, watching Brian out of the corner of his eye and doing his best to avoid actively searching for Arthur. However, he couldn’t explain away how quickly his eyes locked on Arthur when the dancer reappeared and approached.

 

“Would you like to pull up a chair?” Eames asked politely, not entirely sure how to act. He was familiar with casual fucks but not with receiving sex for money. He was doing his best to act like he would if it was casual – no affection, no expectations.

 

Arthur weathered his bottom lip. “Actually it would look better to my owner if I sat in your lap.”

 

Silently Eames uncrossed his legs, leaving himself open and welcoming. He couldn’t explain his actions; they weren’t productive or terribly smart. But there was something about Arthur that made Eames want to keep him close, take Arthur under his wing. There was a fierce intelligence behind that practiced smile, and although Eames had only known Arthur for a short time, he felt like Arthur was wasted on a place like this.

 

Arthur settled in Eames’ lap sideways, legs hooked over one armrest and back resting against the other one. Their eyes met for a brief moment and Eames felt like he should say something, but the moment passed and Arthur’s eyes dropped down to the glass in Eames’ hand. “Did you get me a drink?”

 

“This one is mine,” Eames took a sip demonstratively and then motioned to the second glass on the table in front of his chair. “That’s yours.”

 

To Eames’ mild annoyance, Arthur plucked Eames’ glass from his fingers and took a sip. He watched as Arthur grimaced and took the glass back before Arthur could drop it. “You got the cheap stuff?” Arthur asked, clearly unimpressed.

 

“Like I said,” Eames gave Arthur a pointed look, disgruntled. “ _That_ glass is yours.”

 

Arthur leaned over to grab the second glass and settled back in Eames’ lap. Eames was somewhat grateful that he had already ruined his boxers or else he would be getting close now with Arthur’s warm weight shifting on top of him. He watched as Arthur stared down into his own glass for a moment, wary, and then took a tentative sip. Arthur’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “This is our best scotch!” Arthur looked back to Eames. “You got me the best and kept the cheap stuff for yourself?”

 

Eames shrugged, casually resting his arm on the armrest behind Arthur’s back. “I like the cheap stuff. It has more bite.”

 

“You’re bizarre,” Arthur’s eyebrows furrowed as he studied Eames.

 

“I prefer _unique_ ,” Eames took a sip from his own glass, not paying attention to whether or not he was using a different part of the rim from where Arthur had used.

 

Arthur was quiet for a moment, staring down into his glass. “You didn’t have to get me the expensive scotch.”

 

“I think I owe you more than that,” Eames chuckled nervously, still aware of his body’s loose warmth as his orgasmic haze faded slowly. He took a large gulp of the rest of his scotch, trying not to wince at the harsh bite as he swallowed. Then he handed his empty glass to Arthur who set it on the table for a waiter to wander by and collect. Still unsure, Eames rested his now-free hand on Arthur’s thigh, tracing small circles through the fabric. “How much do I owe you, by the way?”

 

Arthur was silent for a while, sipping his scotch and watching the stage but doing nothing to hinder Eames’ soft caress. Then Arthur sighed. “Nothing.”

 

“Larry isn’t _that_ generous,” Eames retorted quietly.

 

Finally Arthur looked back to him, eyes lit up from the lights over the bar on the half-balcony. “I just don’t want it showing up on the bill, if you know what I mean,” Arthur hinted.

 

“Do you not normally do that?” Eames asked in confusion.

 

“If you’re going to spend time with me then don’t kid yourself about what I do for work,” Arthur said a little harshly, a pained snag catching Arthur’s voice in the back of his throat.

 

Eames swept larger circles with his thumb against Arthur’s thigh, hoping it was soothing to the younger man. “I’ve already shelved the rose-tinted lenses, darling,” Eames said, hushed. “A long time before tonight.”

 

Arthur watched him, considering him, judging him. Seemingly satisfied with what he saw on Eames’ face, Arthur nodded. “To answer your question, I don’t normally do that unless I’ve been paid.”

 

“I could still pay you,” Eames offered.

 

Arthur shook his head but didn’t look angry. “My owner doesn’t need to know. I don’t want him getting your money for that.”

 

Something about Arthur’s words rubbed Eames the wrong way, but before he could dwell on it, Eames’ brain caught up with the rest of Arthur’s sentence. “Wait, you don’t get to keep the money you make? Where does all the money go?”

 

“The owner,” Arthur explained. “In return, I don’t have to pay for food or a room.” Eames gave an angry look of disbelief and Arthur continued, defensive but sounding tired. “It could be worse.”

 

“It doesn’t really sound like a job you can move on from, though,” Eames argued, concerned. If Arthur didn’t get to keep the money he made, how would he ever move on from this job? The dancer was young; he couldn’t possibly want to do this for his whole life, if he even wanted to do it now.

 

To his dismay, Arthur finished his glass of scotch instead of acknowledging Eames’ comment. “Can I have another?” Arthur asked, holding up his empty glass.

 

Worried about Brian seeing him so early into his reconnaissance, Eames fished out his wallet and handed a few bills over to Arthur. “Get what you want and bring me another cheap scotch.” As Arthur stood up and disappeared to the bar, Eames trailed after him with his gaze and ran his fingers through his hair. It was hard to tell himself that he shouldn’t care, that he should only focus on his job. He didn’t even want to do this job. By introducing Eames to Arthur, Larry had accidentally introduced his Forger to a much more interesting and seemingly worthwhile challenge. He could still feel the slightly wet fabric of his collar against his neck where Arthur had bit it to keep quiet as he came in Eames’ lap.

 

“Don’t think too hard,” Arthur teased as he returned, breaking Eames’ concentration. “You might strain yourself.”

 

Eames laughed even though it was an insult and took the glass Arthur offered him. Then he pulled Arthur back into his lap, getting him settled back down. “What made me so lucky, Arthur?” Eames questioned, trying to sound light-hearted but still genuinely curious.

 

Arthur watched Eames as they both took a sip of their scotch, Eames’ throat burning from his cheap variety and Arthur’s scotch no doubt sliding down his throat smoothly. Even though it was hard to tell in the dark club, Eames thought Arthur was blushing. “I’m not sure,” Arthur confessed after a moment. “You’re attractive,” he continued, “But I’ve met other attractive people here before you.”

 

Eames purposefully returned his free hand to Arthur’s thigh, enjoying the warmth radiating against his palm. “Thanks?” he teased.

 

Laughing with his smile, Arthur looked at Eames from beneath his lashes. His mirth faded after a moment but the smile remained. “Maybe it was because you seemed so distracted and uninterested,” Arthur suggested thoughtfully, still watching him. “I’ve never had a client be uninterested before and I wanted your attention... and your pleasure.”

 

Eames slid his hand down from Arthur’s thigh, over his knee and down his calf before trailing back up. “You were successful,” he admitted.

 

He was certain that Arthur was blushing now, which struck Eames as equally curious and endearing; after all, how many other clients had Arthur been with? Surely Eames was not the first to notice Arthur’s beauty, or show him attention. “There was something more though,” Arthur added softly, and Eames felt his eyes drifting closed when fingers slid hesitantly into his hair. He enjoyed listening to the younger man’s hushed voice, the rest of the club falling away as his eyes drifted closed. “I don’t know how to describe it, but you made me think of freedom.”

 

At those words, Eames blinked his eyes open and looked up at Arthur even as Arthur’s fingers continued to knot and tug playfully in his hair. “Freedom,” Eames echoed. What sort of freedom was Arthur looking for? The freedom of a different job? The freedom of dreams...?

 

Arthur nodded, perhaps seeing the questions on Eames’ face but not commenting on them. “I wanted to latch on and hope that you might let me trail along.”

 

“Arthur,” Eames began, reaching up to hold Arthur’s hand in his own, their other hands occupied by the glasses. “What are you asking me?”

 

For a long time, neither of them said anything. The pulsing beat of the music in the club was insistent but unobtrusive, while the beat of Eames’ heart was rapid and consuming. He thought Arthur was going to ask him something that Eames wasn’t sure he was ready to hear or act on. But then that practiced smile returned, tainted by a sadness Arthur couldn’t fully contain, and Arthur swirled the scotch in his glass. “Nothing, Eames.”

 

Eames didn’t know what to say, or if he even did want to say anything. So when Arthur leaned more fully against him, head resting on the curve where Eames’ shoulder joined his collarbone, Eames wrapped his free arm around Arthur’s waist and held him close. They sipped their drinks in silence for a long time, Eames alternating his attention between the stage, the bar, and the dancer in his embrace.

 

He didn’t even realize how long they had sat there in silence until he noticed the main floor beginning to clear out, the bar chiming a bell to signify last call. Eames had been able to pick up on a few of Brian’s basic mannerisms but he would need to spend more time observing him, and then get closer to master his voice. He had been so occupied and silent that he worried Arthur was bored, here only because of Larry’s payment. “I’m sorry I was so boring tonight,” Eames apologized, lips brushing the hair on the top of Arthur’s head. “You can leave if you want. It’s nearly closing and I’m sure you’ve fulfilled your obligation.”

 

“I know,” Arthur said simply but otherwise didn’t stir. Eames felt warmth bloom in his chest and he held Arthur a little tighter.

 

Clients were being escorted politely and unhurriedly toward the exit but Eames still didn’t want to move, even when Brian cleaned off the bar surface and headed into a back room. Eames’ eyes were heavy, Arthur’s presence calming him. He only woke up slightly when he noticed a tall, thin man in a perfectly-fitted suit making a beeline for their armchair. Although Eames thought Arthur might have been asleep, he knew otherwise when Arthur tensed and sat up ramrod straight in Eames’ lap, watching the man approach.

 

“Hello, sir,” the man stopped in front of the chair, smiling down at them pleasantly. “I trust you had a pleasant evening.”

 

“Yes,” Eames held Arthur a little closer without making the conscious decision to do so. “Arthur was lovely company.”

 

“I’m glad to hear that,” the man sent a sharper look out of the corner of his eye to Arthur before turning back to Eames. “I am the owner of this establishment. You can call me Roger.” Roger did not offer a hand and Eames was grateful for it because he wasn’t sure he would want to shake it if he had. “I couldn’t help but notice that you bought Arthur a few drinks tonight,” his voice was clipped and professional. “We generally discourage our workers from accepting drinks.”

 

“I felt Arthur deserved something a little extra tonight,” he could feel Arthur flinch in his lap, “after he put up with my boring chatter for hours.” Arthur relaxed slightly, Eames keeping their little tryst a secret.

 

Roger smiled, but Eames could tell there was something vile just beneath the surface. “The customer is always right, of course,” Roger said with a little bow; he looked pained to do it. “But I would ask you to reconsider in the future. And unfortunately I must remind you that our closing is in five minutes, though I hope you will visit us again.”

 

Roger put out a beckoning hand and Arthur pulled himself out of Eames’ lap, looking unhappy when Roger rested his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. With his mark and Arthur both out of Eames’ grasp, he had nothing to keep him here. He stood fluidly and plucked his jacket from the back of the chair, slipping it on slowly. He gave a fake smile to Roger and then caught Arthur’s gaze. “I will be returning,” he promised, though he tried to keep his tone light for Roger’s sake. “Thank you for your hospitality.” He glanced back at the owner briefly before heading for the door.

 

#

 

It was a little after 11pm when Eames entered the club the next night. It was a little later than he had initially planned and he was worried that his prime location would be taken. It was actually occupied when he first walked in but by the time he had gone to grab a drink he could see the young businessman with oiled blond hair standing up to purchase his own drink. Eames snuck into the armchair without shame and took special interest in his glass when the businessman returned and gave him a dirty glare before moving on to find another seat.

 

Eames spent the next two hours watching Brian, sipping his drink absent-mindedly. This observation would be perfect for the forgery he had to pull off since he would be playing Brian in his bar role during the job. Brian had a practiced routine of hiding small pouches in the indent on the bottom of the glasses used at the club, and taking payments with carefully stacked bills. It would be the perfect method for Eames to get information out of Larry’s final mark without raising any suspicion; as far as the mark would know, it would be business as usual.

 

As Eames sat there and watched, taking mental notes he could use for the job, he couldn’t help but think about how little he wanted to be involved with this job. Although it should be a relatively easy forgery to pull off for Eames, he was nervous about how high-profile and dangerous the mark was. The risk was not in the dream but in reality, where Larry would get the mark away from his entourage and out cold long enough for Eames to perform the job. Eames also hated working a two-man team when he only trusted himself.

 

But he didn’t have a choice. He could have skirted the responsibility but he hated owing anyone a debt, and as loath as he was to admit it, Larry had helped him out two years ago. It had been a tough time for Eames; he had been skilled as a Forger but unrecognized, and in an illegal profession, no one worked with someone who came without recommendations. Larry had been short one man – though had never explained why one of his team members disappeared halfway through a job – and had brought Eames on last minute. It had been a selfish act, but one that had finally established Eames. So here he was, working with Larry again. But he planned for this to be the last time; his debt would be repaid, his abilities established in the profession, and he could find new team members he actually trusted.

 

Eames didn’t see Arthur for the first two hours he was in the club, and he was quite grateful for the lack of distraction. But then Brian grew boring and Eames began actually searching for Arthur. He still didn’t see the black-haired dancer for a while, and then he wished he hadn’t been looking when he finally spotted Arthur. He glanced over just in time to see Arthur stepping out of one of the semi-private rooms people could take dancers to. Arthur pushed the curtain aside with a hollow, distant look on his face, looking pale when the stage lights flickered over his face. Then Arthur disappeared behind a staff door before Eames could even decide what he wanted to do.

 

He kept the majority of his attention on the door Arthur disappeared through, waiting for him to reappear, but he never did. As the clock approached 1:30am, leaving Eames with only thirty minutes left before closing time, Eames slouched back in his chair feeling a little disappointed. He would be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t been hoping to interact with Arthur again.

 

As if some deity had heard his silent wish, Eames was suddenly very aware of a warm hand on his shoulder and a breathy voice in his ear. “Mister Eames. Back so soon?”

 

Eames turned to see Arthur leaning over the armrest with a smile, wonderfully close to Eames but not close enough. “Maybe I missed you,” Eames smiled and carefully caught Arthur’s hand, leading him around to the front of the chair and into his lap.

 

“I certainly hope so,” Arthur said, voice sweet as syrup as he straddled Eames’ thighs. A knee pressed against each of Eames’ hips.

 

Eames was impressed by Arthur’s front, and he knew it had to be an act. After seeing Arthur’s private look of distant disgust at what he did when he left that private room and a no-doubt satisfied customer, this had to be a fake. Arthur would have to learn to use a mask like this, to keep himself distanced from the touch of his pawing clientele. Eames longed to know the real Arthur even though he knew that would probably never happen; after all, Eames was just another client to please.

 

Feeling a little sad, Eames slid his fingers into Arthur’s hair softly, watching Arthur’s eyelids flutter. “How are you?” he asked quietly.

 

Arthur smirked and leaned a little closer. “Lonely.”

 

Eames gave a pained smile; he could see the mask even if he couldn’t decipher what lay beneath. He massaged behind Arthur’s ears when he noticed that left the dancer genuinely relaxed, and then skimmed his fingers through hair again. “How are you _really_?”

 

Arthur’s smirk faltered and fell. He pulled away slightly to regard Eames’ face, reading him. But instead of offering up a real answer, Arthur grimaced and began to stand up. “I’m afraid I’ll have to find another client. Roger won’t be happy if I waste the last thirty minutes of work talking instead of making money.”

 

“Hang on—” Eames said hurriedly, reaching forward to grip Arthur’s upper arm to keep him from disappearing. He was about to say more when he froze, seeing and feeling Arthur flinch and try to pull away from Eames’ grasp. Immediately he released his hold, reading the pain in those dark eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asked, worried now.

 

“Nothing,” Arthur insisted, though he instinctively rested his hand against where Eames had grabbed, as though holding a wound. “I should go.”

 

“Arthur, wait,” Eames rushed to say. He didn’t dare reach out lest he hurt Arthur again, but Arthur still hesitated at his words. “I’ll pay you so you won’t get in trouble. Just please sit down.”

 

Arthur only hesitated for a brief moment before sitting back down in Eames’ lap. His movements were less fluid now but Eames didn’t know if that was because of some pain or if Arthur realized there was no point in hiding it. Wondering and worried about what had caused Arthur such pain from Eames’ relatively light grip, Eames reached forward and began tugging at Arthur’s collar, trying to see his upper arm.

 

“Eames, you can’t just undress me!” Arthur snapped, knocking his hand away. “Roger would kill me if he saw me getting undressed and have no money to show for it.”

 

“How much?” Eames asked immediately, already reaching for his wallet.

 

“Eames—” Arthur balked, Eames quieting him with a look. Then Arthur gave a number and Eames handed the bills over.

 

Arthur looked away and sat silently, showing Eames his distancing technique up close as Eames slowly unbuttoned the top three buttons of Arthur’s shirt. Eames paused, apprehensive about what he might find, and then pulled the collar down enough to make Arthur’s upper arm visible. A ring of bruises circled Arthur’s bicep. “What the hell is this?” he hissed.

 

“It’s nothing!” Arthur hissed, pulling his arm away from Eames’ scrutiny. Arthur dropped his gaze and Eames thought he saw unshed tears on Arthur’s lashes.

 

“This isn’t nothing,” Eames growled. He forced himself to focus enough to button up Arthur’s shirt again with shaking fingers.

 

Arthur watched Eames’ fingers work, eyebrows furrowed, and then looked up at Eames with confusion. “What are you doing?”

 

“I didn’t pay to strip you in front of the entire club,” Eames explained somewhat impatiently, fidgeting with Arthur’s collar and sleeves to pull everything back into place. “I’m just worried about you.”

 

One tear fell onto Eames’ wrist before Arthur regained control over himself. “Well you shouldn’t,” Arthur sniffled and took a deep breath, centering himself. “This is all I’m good for, and it’s all I’ll ever do.”

 

“Don’t talk like that,” Eames tilted Arthur’s chin up with a finger, meeting those sad brown eyes. “You can be so much more.” Arthur shook his head but didn’t say anything else. “Your clients shouldn’t be allowed to manhandle you like this. I’m going to have a word with Roger.”

 

“Don’t!” Arthur demanded sharply, fingers clutching at Eames’ shirt until the fabric wrinkled.

 

“Give me one good reason,” Eames grumbled, in no mood to be derailed.

 

Arthur bit his bottom lip but held Eames’ gaze. “First promise me that you won’t talk to Roger about it.”

 

“I will promise no such thing,” Eames said honestly.

 

“Eames, this is important,” Arthur pleaded.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because it will only get worse if you talk to Roger,” Arthur admitted.

 

“I don’t understand,” Eames confessed.

 

Arthur shifted in Eames’ lap but it was far from sexual. Eames wrapped his arms around Arthur’s waist cautiously, receiving no pained noises or looks. “Roger gave me the bruises,” Arthur whispered under his breath, as though he was worried the owner would be listening in.

 

Eames tightened his hold protectively and Arthur didn’t fight it, letting his chest rest against Eames’ own. He could barely name everything he felt whirling inside him; fury at Roger for treating one – or possibly many – of his dancers like this, fear that he might have done something wrong yesterday to cause this, frustration that he might not be able to do anything to stop it from happening again. “Is there anything I can do?” he eventually asked, unwilling to let his sense of helplessness win.

 

“You’re so sweet,” Arthur sighed against Eames and then sat up just enough to kiss Eames softly on the cheek. “But no, there’s nothing you can do. Any retaliation would make it worse and I have nowhere else to go.”

 

Eames wondered if it would be stupid of him to ask Arthur to come home with him. What did he really have to offer Arthur? A life on the run with fake identities, unable to put down roots lest the law catch up with you. Besides, how foolish would Eames look if Arthur was just playing his role and actually had no real interest in Eames? He didn’t think Arthur was faking the soft smile and he definitely wasn’t faking the bruises, but maybe Eames was reading too much into everything.

 

Before he could say anything, he noticed Roger approaching them again. Eames held Arthur a little tighter, protective and claiming, and felt Arthur clutch Eames’ shirt tighter when he heard Roger speak from behind. “Any problem, sir?”

 

Eames thanked his years of acting – faking body movements, emotions, expressions and voices – as he held himself back from depositing Arthur in the chair and punching Roger in the face. He took a deep, silent breath and spoke as calmly as he could. “Yes, actually.” His fingers twitched against Arthur’s waist when he felt the dancer tense, hoping Arthur would trust him. “I didn’t get to spend long enough with Arthur tonight. I would like to hire him for the rest of the week.”

 

Arthur gasped quietly in surprise. Roger’s eyebrows rose into his hairline before he laughed. “I mean no offense, sir. But that’s quite a large sum of money you’re talking about. And I’m sure you’d enjoy meeting some of our other skilled dancers.”

 

“No,” Eames refused blatantly. “I would be quite happy with Arthur for the rest of the week until my last visit on Saturday.”

 

Roger’s smile was a little forced now, though he was doing a good job of trying to hide his annoyance. “Well unfortunately Arthur has already been booked up for the majority of Thursday night. But you could have him tomorrow, Friday and Saturday if that would suffice.”

 

“It’ll do,” Eames grumbled, not liking the thought of having to give Arthur up on Thursday but not really having many options. Roger gave a price, still clearly trying to deter him. But Eames was not interested in being thwarted on this; he had plenty of money to spare, and he felt this was a worthwhile investment. “I’ll bring the money tomorrow at opening,” he assured Roger.

 

Arthur was still watching Eames with wide eyes, stunned as he sat in Eames’ lap. Feeling possessive but not wanting to get Arthur in more trouble with Roger, Eames pressed a quick kiss to Arthur’s temple and then nudged him up, hinting that he should stand. “Thank you for coming. It was a pleasure to have you,” Arthur murmured, his cocky, confident self hidden away in Roger’s shadow.

 

Eames stood up as well and rested a light hand on Arthur’s shoulder, trying to comfort him. But his eyes were on Roger when he spoke. “I expect Arthur to be in peak form for my scheduled visits,” Eames stated. It was all he could think to do to protect Arthur from more bruises.

 

“Always,” Roger smiled without amusement.

 

Finally Eames had to force himself to grab his jacket and head for the door. Last bell hadn’t been rung yet, but it would only be a few minutes; many of the other clients were already headed for the door as well. He stole one last glance over his shoulder and felt his heart lodge in his throat when he saw Arthur watching him retreat. It took all of Eames’ control not to rush back, scoop Arthur up into his arms, and run like hell with the dancer out of the club.

 

#

 

Eames arrived promptly at 10pm, cash in a shoulder bag to avoid any paper trail that came from using credit cards. There was already a bit of a line of people waiting to get in but it only took a few minutes before Eames was paying his admission fee and stepping up to a security guard, explaining that he had an appointment with Roger. The guard – towering over Eames and looking rather grumpy – took his name and disappeared.

 

A few minutes later Roger arrived, Arthur at his elbow and giving Eames a small, relieved smile when Roger wouldn’t see him. The three of them disappeared into a back room on the upper balcony, which Eames assumed was Roger’s office. Eames looked around as Roger counted the bills, taking in the meticulously-organized files on the desk and shelves on the back wall. Roger struck Eames as a man who liked to be in control, to the point of extremes.

 

“Just to clarify,” Roger eventually spoke, drawing Eames’ attention. “This only covers Arthur’s company. If you want anything more, you will have to pay as normal.”

 

“That’s fine,” Eames brushed him off, uninterested in spending another moment with this man. “I understand.”

 

“Well, I hope you have an enjoyable evening,” Roger smiled, tight-lipped, not standing up from his chair behind the desk.

 

“Oh I’m sure I will,” Eames smiled genuinely, though it was directed at Arthur. And then, knowing he was now allowed without getting Arthur in trouble, Eames scooped the dancer up into his arms and walked out of the office.

 

“Eames, what are you doing?” Arthur struggled in his grasp before finally throwing an arm around Eames’ shoulders for stability.

 

Eames was grateful that Arthur didn’t fight him too badly since it was rather difficult to maintain his balance when Arthur squirmed around. He kept Arthur in his arms as he walked up to the elevator, unwilling to risk the stairs like this. Arthur pressed the ‘down’ button without needing to be asked, and then they stood there in silence while they waited for the elevator. “Now that I know you won’t get in trouble and Roger can’t touch you, I’m doing whatever I want to do,” Eames muttered against Arthur’s hair, kissing the side of his head affectionately.

 

The lighting inside the elevator was garish and bright, but Eames didn’t mind because it meant that he could see Arthur’s blush and small smile. Eames held Arthur a little closer and felt his heart trip over itself when Arthur rested his head against Eames’ arm and nuzzled him slightly, trust him to carry him and keep him safe. Not wanting to disappoint, Eames rushed to his favourite armchair in the shadowed corner and settled Arthur in his lap before his arms could tremble too noticeably.

 

He had settled Arthur in the same position he had been carrying the dancer, legs hanging over the armrest and back against Eames’ arm. But Arthur quickly readjusted so that he was straddling Eames’ lap, warm thighs framing Eames’ own and fingers tracing the line where Eames’ neck met collar. “You didn’t have to do this,” Arthur said softly, no doubt aware of Eames shivering as Arthur’s fingers skimmed across his neck.

 

“I wanted to,” Eames said seriously, sliding his hands down Arthur’s sides to rest on his hips. “Anything to keep you safe for as long as possible,” he added shyly.

 

Arthur smiled, staring at Eames’ neck rather than looking up to meet his eyes. But then Arthur’s smile morphed into a grimace. “Just to warn you, Roger isn’t going to be happy with just a base payment.”

 

“That’s alright,” Eames ran his fingers up and down Arthur’s spine. “I’m sure we can work something out.” Arthur was quiet as he shivered against Eames. “I could just pay you extra. I don’t want you doing something you don’t want to do.”

 

Now Arthur’s brown eyes slid up to Eames’, brighter and playful. “Maybe I want to,” Arthur hummed as he rolled his hips teasingly, sparking warmth in Eames’ groin.

 

Taking a quiet, shuddering breath, Eames ran his fingers up the line of Arthur’s spine again, taking note of how it made Arthur arch forward and show off his neck. “Well that’s a different story, then,” Eames breathed. “But only if you’re sure.”

 

Arthur considered Eames for a moment and then nodded. “As long as I don’t have to take my clothes off. In private I can pretend, but out here in public it just makes me feel like a whore.”

 

“That’s fine,” Eames tried to give a reassuring smile, slowly forcing himself to move his hands away from Arthur’s body.

 

He didn’t even get his hands all the way to the armrests before Arthur laced their fingers together, pulling Eames’ touch back to the dancer’s narrow hips. “I still want you to touch me under my clothes,” Arthur said not too subtly before leaning forward and sealing his mouth over Eames’ neck.

 

“Oh fuck,” Eames hissed as his body arched up, his pulse flying under Arthur’s lips. Eames’ fingers twitched against Arthur’s body, eager but hesitating. “You’re sure?” he questioned breathlessly.

 

As an answer, Arthur reached back to tug his shirt from the waistband of his pants, letting the fabric flutter freely below where the pinstripe waistcoat held the top part of the shirt in place against Arthur’s chest. Then Arthur took Eames’ hands and pressed them against warm, smooth skin. “Answer enough?” Arthur smiled a little hesitantly, watching Eames’ face for a reaction.

 

In return Eames slid both hands up the curve of Arthur’s sides and then down the arch of his back, feeling the knobs of Arthur’s spine and the racing of his heart when Eames wiggled one hand up under the waistcoat to feel his heart. “Yeah,” Eames breathed, pleased that Arthur seemed to genuinely want this. “But don’t I have to pay you?” he asked a bit nervously.

 

Arthur leaned forward and kissed the corner of Eames’ mouth. “After,” Arthur said a little desperately. “For now, let me pretend.” His heart flying, Eames turned his face just enough to catch Arthur’s lips with his own. Arthur moaned and kissed him back just for a moment before pulling away, blushing furiously. “We’re not allowed to kiss clients. I’m sorry,” Arthur whispered, eyes downcast.

 

Eames stroked along Arthur’s lower back, half soothing and half trying to get Arthur focused on something other than his disappointment. “I understand,” Eames promised, his heart aching at seeing Arthur so contained and disappointed. “I’ll just let you lead, okay?”

 

Arthur didn’t respond, still looking down. Eames thought he could feel Arthur trying to withdraw and distance himself, his hold on Eames’ shoulders light. Eames wanted that genuine passion back, and wanted Arthur to know that Eames wanted the dancer however he could have him, so he rolled his hips up demonstratively. Arthur’s eyes widened as he whined and arched down in return, both of them already half hard in their pants.

 

“You really want me anyway,” Arthur breathed, and then gasped quietly as Eames thrust up again to make a point.

 

“However I can have you without getting you in trouble,” Eames swore, his hands sliding down to hold Arthur’s hips as he thrust up again, quickly growing obsessed with the little noises Arthur made each time their clothed erections brushed. “I want to pretend too,” he confessed.

 

Arthur smiled and looked like he wanted to break the rules and kiss Eames anyway. Instead, Eames felt fingers tangle in his hair as Arthur tucked his face in the crook of Eames’ neck. Eames didn’t fight Arthur’s hold as he began feeling soft, moist lips kiss along his neck. He moaned and let his head fall back against the chair, exposing more skin for Arthur’s questing lips. Arthur immediately took advantage and sucked lightly at Eames’ pulse point, but what really had Eames holding Arthur close was the feel of those lips smiling against his skin.

 

He allowed Arthur to lead because Arthur knew the rules they had to follow to appease Roger. But it was incredibly difficult to maintain control as Arthur sat back in Eames’ lap and began dancing, his hips circling and swaying. Once Arthur had to reach back and hold Eames’ hands, giving them a light push to get them moving again since Eames was so enraptured by the sight and feel of Arthur dancing in his lap.

 

After that he let his hands roam while Arthur danced, Eames trying to drink in every detail with his eyes. Even though Eames wanted to spirit Arthur away from here, from this life and an owner like Roger, Arthur really was beautiful like this. Body warm and strong against Eames, skin flushed and lips parted as they both grew breathless, eyes dancing whenever they caught Eames staring.

 

Eames couldn’t seem to breathe properly as Arthur began rocking against Eames with an intent more focused than playful. Arthur leaned more fully against Eames, their chests rising and falling together. Eames tightened his grip on Arthur’s hips, his fingers sneaking teasingly below Arthur’s waistband as he pulled Arthur forward as Eames began thrusting up to meet him. Arthur had done his part, completing his dance beautifully, and now it was Eames’ chance to take care of Arthur in return.

 

“Eames,” Arthur whined, holding him close with one hand on his shoulder and the other knotting in his hair. “Fuck, we shouldn’t be doing this in public,” Arthur cursed, though he didn’t sound very upset.

 

Eames did a quick skim of the club. “No one is watching,” he promised before he leaned forward and nipped Arthur’s earlobe, tugging playfully and causing Arthur to jerk forward and cry out weakly. “But we can stop if you want.”

 

“Don’t you dare,” Arthur growled, dipping his head back down to nip Eames’ neck more harshly, spurring Eames on.

 

Arthur’s fingers fumbled with the knot of Eames’ tie, loosening it to pull Eames’ collar further back and suck at the juncture where Eames’ neck met his shoulder. At the same time, Eames abandoned Arthur’s tempting skin to slide his hands over the swell of Arthur’s ass, more demanding as he began setting a pace for both of them that would quickly spiral out of control. As Eames squeezed Arthur’s ass and rutted up against him he could feel how swollen Arthur was in his pants, just as turned on by this encounter as Eames was.

 

“I wish you were back in my bed,” Eames whispered between panting breaths as their bodies arched together, riding each other toward their ending. “I would strip you and take you the way you deserve. The way I want to.”

 

“Like—” Arthur was cut off by his own gasp for air when their cocks rutted together particularly hard, Eames holding Arthur close and grinding up against him now. “Like how?”

 

“I would start by stripping you bare and kissing every inch of your skin,” Eames said, kissing Arthur’s temple where he could reach. “And then I would kiss your lips as I slid you onto my cock and swallow your moans and never stop kissing you.” Eames groaned and clenched his eyes closed, imagining it, imagining it was just him and Arthur, that they weren’t in a club and Eames didn’t have to pay for this just to keep Arthur safe.

 

“I want that,” Arthur whined, holding onto Eames tightly as he panted against Eames’ neck. “Please, Eames,” Arthur nearly sobbed as they ground their hips together, both of them groaning loudly. “I don’t want to just be a dancer to you.”

 

“You’re not,” Eames promised, grinding up against Arthur greedily now. “You’re so much more.”

 

To silence himself before he said words he wasn’t ready to say, words that shouldn’t even be coming to his mind after only knowing Arthur for three days, he sealed his mouth on Arthur’s neck. He didn’t suck, doubting Roger would be happy with his dancer getting marked so visibly, but Eames did circle his tongue and pepper kisses with his lips. It seemed to be all Arthur needed as the young dancer moaned Eames’ name and shuddered violently in his lap.

 

It only took a few seconds for Eames to feel the warm wetness on Arthur’s crotch against his own cock through his pants. With the sound of Arthur still saying Eames’ name in his ear, Eames swallowed down a cry and came in a rush. He held Arthur close with trembling arms as his body shuddered, an extra shiver of warmth brushing along his spine when Arthur threw both arms around Eames’ neck and collapsed against him.

 

Neither of them could breathe properly for a while, let alone speak. A part of Eames felt that he should try to explain how he was feeling, his affection for Arthur and his desire to protect him. He didn’t know how to explain it though; he told himself that it was all too quick to feel these things for a near-stranger. But then he remembered Arthur’s distant, hollow look, the bruises, and Arthur’s wince of pain... Arthur’s genuine smiles with Eames, the witty banter showing a confident young man Eames wanted to know better.

 

Without realizing it, Eames hugged Arthur closer and buried his face in the crook of Arthur’s neck, breathing in his scent. Arthur held him tightly in return, though he probably didn’t know what had caused the sudden change. Fingers slipped through the hair at the back of Eames’ head, exploring lazily and curiously. “Are you alright?” Arthur asked softly.

 

For a minute Eames didn’t respond. He just breathed in Arthur’s smell – sweat and musk but with an undertone of freshness from a plain soap. Eames still refused to change positions even though he knew his boxers were ruined, but he did finally speak. “Yeah,” he held Arthur flush against him. “I’m alright.”

 

A few soft kisses were pressed to Eames’ hairline and temple where Arthur could reach. “You don’t sound alright,” Arthur said, sounding worried. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up and get a drink?” Arthur suggested. “I’ll guard your precious armchair until you’re back.”

 

Eames raised his head enough to meet Arthur’s soft, caring eyes. Eames wondered how many lucky few had received a look like that from Arthur; was he the first? Or were there others that had meant something to Arthur before he got forced into this job? He realized that Arthur’s smile was sad but determined; he was trying to cheer Eames up. And although that just made Eames want to bundle Arthur up in his arms and never let go, he realized that it was also Arthur’s method of moving conversation on to a more appropriate topic.

 

“Okay,” Eames agreed, brushing his fingers over Arthur’s cheekbone and jaw tenderly. “Fight anyone off who tries to steal the chair, would you?” he forced a chuckle, attempting to alleviate the concern that was still on Arthur’s face.

 

The quiet laugh seemed to reassure Arthur a bit, because he laughed in return, which finally brought a genuine smile to Eames’ lips. “Not a soul will win this chair from me,” Arthur proclaimed, making an x over his heart.

 

Eames forced himself to lift Arthur and settle him back down in the armchair, standing on unsteady legs. It felt like there was a rope tied around his waist and Arthur’s, trying to drag him back down. He wanted a proper taste of those lips, wanted to mark skin and hold Arthur close. But by now the wet fabric of his boxers and pants were beginning to chafe, giving him enough motivation to disappear into the washroom and make himself a bit more presentable.

 

As Arthur had suggested, Eames picked up a drink on his way out of the washroom. He lingered by the bar for a few minutes, coherent enough to remember that he also had a job to complete. Eames ordered a scotch for himself, the expensive kind this time, and a glass of ice cold water. It was a busy time at the bar and Brian kept flicking his gaze around frantically, trying to fill orders as quickly as he could manage. Eames made it a point to make his body language imply that he was in no rush, meaning that Brian would overlook him until he was less busy and Eames had the time to listen to his voice and read his behaviour as he took and filled orders.

 

At one point Eames let his eyes drift away to see if Arthur was still in the armchair as promised or if he had moved to clean himself up. Eames felt his heart stutter when he saw that Arthur was not only seated in the armchair, but he was actually watching Eames with big, dark eyes through the metal railing. No longer interested in Brian, Eames gave Arthur a tiny salute and finally signalled Brian, seeking his order.

 

Arthur was considering Eames with a slightly suspicious look when he approached the armchair, hands occupied with the glasses. “Do you like Brian?” Arthur asked bluntly, not standing up from the chair to offer Eames a place to sit.

 

Even though Arthur was clearly trying to sound mostly uninterested, Eames could catch the hurt bite of disappointment sharpening Arthur’s words. Eames carefully set the two glasses down on the table by the chair and then kneeled in front of Arthur, looking up at him seriously. “What makes you think that I do?”

 

Arthur fidgeted with his cuff and wouldn’t quite meet Eames’ eyes. “You stare at him a lot. And you always choose this armchair right where you can see him.”

 

“I do,” Eames agreed and he couldn’t help it, he was smiling. Although he would never consider Arthur to be dumb, he was impressed and pleased to see just how observant the dancer was, taking note of his surroundings and reading every situation to plan many moves ahead. He wondered idly if Arthur had ever played chess. His smile didn’t last long though when he saw Arthur’s lips tighten into a narrow line. “Will you let me explain?” Eames begged hurriedly.

 

“Will I want to hear the answer?” Arthur asked gravely, finally looking down at Eames.

 

“I don’t know,” Eames admitted. “But I don’t watch him for the reason you’re thinking.”

 

Arthur’s eyes narrowed for a moment, trying to read him for a lie. “You’re lucky I like you,” Arthur said with a huff, and Eames was too nervous to laugh in case Arthur wasn’t trying to be funny. “I’m going to change into different pants and then I’ll be back.”

 

“I’ll be here waiting for you,” Eames proclaimed. Something in his voice must have caught Arthur’s attention because the dancer glanced down at him one last time and a smile threatened to curl his lips before Arthur stood and strode away.

 

With no other option, Eames pulled himself into his armchair. He relaxed with the combination of his and Arthur’s body heat seeping into his back from the leather. However, he couldn’t relax fully as he debated over his situation. What _exactly_ was he going to tell Arthur? He knew there was no point in denying Arthur’s accusation; it would just ruin what little trust Eames had earned. But was Eames really going to tell Arthur everything? About dream work? Forging? The fact that Eames was planning to temporarily steal the identity of one of Arthur’s co-workers to pull off an illegal job?

 

When Arthur returned, he looked haggard and exhausted. Eames was halfway to standing when Arthur waved him back down into the chair, settling down in Eames’ lap a moment later, legs over the armrest and head resting on Eames’ chest. “What happened?” Eames questioned, not bothering to ask if Arthur was okay when it was clear he wasn’t. He was grateful when Arthur didn’t fight his hold when Eames hugged Arthur close in a tight embrace.

 

“You worry about me too much,” Arthur chided without any malice.

 

“Does it bother you?” Eames asked, keeping his arms wound around Arthur’s middle.

 

Arthur was silent for a moment, playing with the top button of Eames’ shirt without any real intent. “No,” Arthur eventually said, sounding a bit surprised by his own answer. “It’s sort of nice.”

 

“Then tell me what’s wrong, darling,” Eames watched Arthur patiently.

 

“Roger didn’t actually do anything,” Arthur began quickly. “He was just upset that I haven’t collected any more money yet.”

 

“That can be easily remedied,” Eames said, reaching for his wallet.

 

He hadn’t even gotten his wallet fully opened when Arthur’s hand fell on top of Eames’, stilling him. “I don’t want your money, Eames,” Arthur said sadly.  

 

“I don’t want it to cheapen our moment,” Eames assured, not fighting Arthur’s touch. “I just want to make sure you don’t have to deal with Roger.”

 

Arthur’s hand slid from Eames’ hand to grasp his loose-hanging tie. Then Arthur pulled Eames toward him, their lips clashing. The kiss was fast and left Eames breathless, feeling dizzy with everything he had felt in those three seconds of stolen passion before Arthur pulled away. Eames knew he couldn’t pursue Arthur’s retreating lips, unsure if Roger was around to see, but he also knew that Arthur could read the desire on Eames’ face and understood. Arthur was smiling, looking a little more content, when he finally nodded. “Okay.”

 

For a moment Eames didn’t remember what Arthur was agreeing to, but then he took note of the wallet in his slack grasp. Feeling a little embarrassed at how consuming that kiss had been to him, Eames fumbled for some bills and handed them over. He saw Arthur frown but spoke up before Arthur got a chance. “I know it’s double what I owe you. Just consider it my early payment for what I want to do next.”

 

Arthur glanced up at Eames through his lashes and Eames was suddenly fighting to keep his thoughts pure even though he had just coated his boxers. “And what do you want to do next?”

 

“Sorry to disappoint,” Eames chuckled, trying to laugh away the sudden tension between them telling Eames that he was ready for round two, that he could afford a private room, that he could press Arthur down and climb on top of him... Eames cleared his throat and blushed, knowing Arthur could see his reaction. “But I was hoping we could sit and talk for a little while like we did on the first night.”

 

“You’re paying me to talk to you...” Arthur raised an eyebrow, looking halfway between confused and amused.

 

“Technically, I suppose,” Eames laughed again, feeling more nervous at each passing second. “And I got you a drink.” Arthur looked over and picked up the two glasses, handing the scotch to Eames. Already decided, Eames took a small sip before handing back the scotch, taking the glass of water from Arthur’s grasp. “I figured we could share and I could take the scotch if Roger comes by.”

 

Arthur looked around the club quickly for any sign of Roger, even though Eames had already been keeping an eye out for the controlling owner. And then Eames smiled as he watched Arthur steal a sip of scotch and felt the dancer shiver pleasantly in his lap at the burn of alcohol. Satisfied by the drink, Arthur cradled the glass in his hands and turned to sweep his eyes over Eames. “Are you trying to turn this into a date?” Arthur asked playfully.

 

Eames would have felt foolish except that he heard the affection hidden behind the teasing. “So what if I am?”

 

Arthur cupped Eames’ cheek with his free hand, the cool moisture from the glass on his palm causing Eames to shiver and lean into the touch. “Are you such a lonely man?” Arthur wondered aloud and Eames noticed an edge in the words, like the thought actually saddened Arthur.

 

Eames held his own free hand over Arthur’s, keeping it in place. “I never thought I was,” Eames explained. “I never _felt_ lonely,” he reflected. His eyebrows furrowed as he thought. “But then I met you.”

 

Arthur’s eye roll was visible. “Now you sound like a cheap romance novel,” he accused with a laugh.

 

“The price of speaking the truth, I suppose,” Eames shrugged, unbothered. “I don’t know. I just really enjoy your company.”

 

“No one else in your life?” Arthur asked lightly, not demanding an answer if Eames felt like brushing him off.

 

“There aren’t many people I trust to have in my life,” Eames clarified.

 

“But you trust me?” Arthur took another small sip of scotch.

 

“Call me a fool if you wish,” Eames smiled.

 

“You’re a fool,” Arthur said immediately, though he sounded affectionate.

 

“For trusting you?” Eames brushed his fingers across Arthur’s back in a soft caress.

 

Arthur shivered. “For trusting a dancer in a strip club.”

 

“Perhaps,” Eames agreed, lifting his hand higher to tease the black curls at the back of Arthur’s neck. “But I figure we all need to choose something to fight for.”

 

He looked over a little nervously and they stared at one another for a minute. Arthur looked like he was trying to decide whether to be flattered or embarrassed. Clearly trying to move on to a different topic of conversation, Arthur glanced up to the bar and then turned an expectant look on Eames. “So, explain to me why you’ve been ogling Brian.”

 

“Jealous?” Eames teased.

 

“Professional interest,” Arthur sniffed, looking uninterested.

 

“Well there’s nothing he has that I want,” Eames reassured Arthur, though that didn’t seem to be enough to please the dancer. Wanting to be cautious, Eames started with a question. “How much do you know about your co-workers?”

 

Arthur looked a little confused by the question but seemed willing to indulge Eames. “Quite a bit, actually. The dancers stick together, but we’re not very fond of the employees who actually get to keep their money and leave each night.” Arthur looked at Eames, likely unsure if he was overstepping his bounds. Eames just held Arthur a little closer, encouraging him. “I know enough to tell you that Brian isn’t the sort of man you want to trust at your back. You wouldn’t even want to let him out of your sight to go to the bathroom after a fuck.”

 

“I’m not interested in taking him home to do anything,” Eames explained quickly.

 

“Good, because he’s a thief,” Arthur accused, entirely accurate. “He runs shady deals with wealthy clients who come here. I would tell Roger except I’m almost positive he already knows and is in on it too for some of the profit. I’ve heard them talking in Roger’s office sometimes, after the club closes.”

 

Eames logged this information away, wondering if he might be able to ruin Roger along with Brian when he used this role for the job. From what he knew of how Roger ran his business and treated his dancers, Eames didn’t think it would be any loss to have Roger behind bars. Hell, Eames would feel satisfied leaving Roger in the dust with nothing but a broken reputation.

 

“You know a lot,” Eames praised, surprised at how much Arthur knew. This was more than Eames knew and he had a sneaking suspicion that Arthur had endless more facts about Brian, Roger, and anyone else tucked away in the back of his mind. Larry wasn’t the best researcher, Eames knew, but still; this far surpassed any information Eames had previously been given to work with on a mark.

 

Arthur shrugged. “I like to know as much as I can about the people I work with. I would be better if I had access to the internet.”

 

“You know all this without internet?” Eames gaped.

 

Arthur smirked, looking pleased with himself. “I know _more_.”

 

Eames leaned a little closer, eager to kiss those proud lips but holding back – _barely_. “Feel like sharing more?”

 

Arthur’s smirk grew. They were leaning so close that Eames could feel Arthur’s breath on his face. “It’s your turn to share.”

 

“Fair enough,” Eames agreed, resting against the back of the armchair just so he could stay focused. “Promise you won’t tell anyone.”

 

Arthur looked incredulous. “What could a stripper’s promise possibly be worth?”

 

Eames sighed, not liking these moments where Arthur failed to distance himself from his role. “ _Your_ promise is worth quite a lot to me.”

 

Arthur still didn’t look like he quite understood, but he nodded. “I have no loyalty to Brian or Roger.”

 

Eames took a deep breath. Although he hoped and believed that he could trust Arthur with this, he reminded himself that even if Arthur told someone, it couldn’t get him in too much trouble. Eames had already felt enough of Arthur’s bare skin to be sure he wasn’t wearing a wire, and if things started falling apart Eames just had to abandon the club. More observation would solidify his forgery, but he felt he could already pull off a relatively decent version of Brian based on what he had already seen.

 

“Try to suspend your disbelief for a few minutes,” Eames said, and then he began trying to explain dreamwork to Arthur. It was always difficult to describe dreamwork without the aid of actually taking someone down into a dream, but he did his best. He told Arthur a little bit about dreamwork, about being able to go down into a dream and shape it, and about some of the uses – legal and otherwise – for this technology. Then he explained a bit about forging and the reasons for his interest in watching Brian.

 

When he finished, Arthur was watching Eames with a look he knew well; it was a look someone had when they desperately wanted to believe something but were too scared to hope in case it was all a joke. “Eames...” Arthur trailed off, voice catching in the back of his throat. His eyes were frantic when they met Eames’. “Will you show me?”

 

“I would love to,” Eames whispered sadly, “But I’d never be able to sneak the device into the club.” Arthur wilted in front of Eames’ eyes, the dancer’s practiced mask of indifference not strong enough to hide his disappointment. “I’m so sorry, Arthur.”

 

“Will you describe it to me?” Arthur requested quietly. “What’s it like to build an entire world of your very own?”

 

Eames cleared his throat and thought hard. “Okay, imagine you woke up in this field of green, and you stand and suddenly there’s cobblestone beneath your feet.” He watched Arthur’s eyes slide closed, focusing on imagining it as Eames narrated. “The sky is clear with just a few clouds and the sun is warm.” Eames closed his eyes too, creating a world where he could stand side by side with Arthur. “I’m standing there beside you, and we’re beside a large fountain. It’s an old town square.”

 

Arthur hummed and rested his head against Eames’ shoulder, listening intently. “You can hear the water rushing over old stone,” Eames said. “And the sound of a chapel’s bells chiming in the distance. And lots of people chattering nearby at a market.”

 

“The buildings are only a few stories high,” Arthur added hesitantly, not lifting his head from Eames’ shoulder. “Made of old red brick, with lots of flower baskets hanging in front of the windows. There’s a sign hanging over each door, saying what they sell.”

 

Eames could see it all in his mind. He knew he was controlling his own imagination, but his mental imagery shifted so seamlessly that he could have sworn Arthur was controlling it, changing the architecture around Eames’ people and sounds. “Behind us there’s a road leading to a park and the farmer’s market. There are little children dashing about, laughing and trying to fly kites, while their parents watch over them and make purchases.”

 

“The trees are tall and old in the park,” Arthur jumped in as though they had practiced. “And the grass is fresh and uncut. Across the distance of the park is the chapel, made of some white brick and standing tall. There’s an arching double door made of heavy dark wood, and a tower in the centre that reaches up into the sky.” Eames couldn’t even speak; he could only hang on Arthur’s words and watch the world being painted in his mind. “There are two smaller towers flanking the main tower, with old brass bells that echo across the town.”

 

Arthur proceeded to describe the church with so much exquisite detail that Eames felt his eyes sting with tears; that one building was so beautiful and had so much thought and love put into it, and it was much more than Eames had ever created in an actual dream. Arthur seemed to trail off eventually but Eames wanted to hear more, was addicted to Arthur’s imagination. “What else, darling?”

 

For a moment Arthur was silent. Then he began again. “There would be little shops along the street for people to sit and sip tea after church on Sundays,” Arthur said as though he had already been there and was relaying a memory, rather than creating as he went. “And if we keep going down the street we’ll find town hall, and it has this dome at the top with four large clocks that face each cardinal direction.” Arthur reached blindly until he found Eames’ hand, their glasses long since finished and taken away by a waiter. Eames held Arthur’s hand tightly, lacing their fingers together. “Do you see it, Eames?”

 

“I do,” Eames promised, and kisses the top of Arthur’s head.

 

They lost track of time like that, feeding off the other’s imagination. Arthur built the world and Eames populated it with life, and together they took each other on an adventure. It was only when someone tapped Eames on the shoulder – scaring him enough to nearly send Arthur toppling out of his lap – that Eames finally rejoined reality, albeit unwillingly. His eyes flashed open and immediately pinned the waiter with a glare before his attention was drawn back to Arthur, who had made a startled, unhappy grunt and was now resettling himself back in Eames’ lap.

 

“I’m sorry, sir,” the waiter rushed to say, taking a step back nervously. “Clients aren’t allowed to sleep in the club.”

 

“Did you not see our mouths moving?” Eames growled. “We were talking.”

 

“I’m sorry,” the man said again, fidgeting with his apron. “Roger sent me to check on you.”

 

“Of course he did,” Eames sighed, wondering why Roger was so hell-bent on ruining his time with Arthur; after all, he was getting paid well for the time. “Well we’re obviously awake so why don’t you go get us some water.”

 

The waiter nodded and rushed away but Eames was already turning his attention back to Arthur, brushing a few stray strands of hair from his face. Arthur was blinking up at Eames a little owlishly, like he really was waking up from a dream he didn’t want to leave. “That’s what it’s like?” Arthur eventually asked after the waiter brought them two glasses of water and scurried away.

 

Eames didn’t know what to say at first. “Yes,” he hesitated, “and also no. That is exactly what it’s like except that if you were actually using the dream device you would be able to create much faster than you can speak. But I’ve never experienced something quite like that before,” Eames admitted, holding Arthur’s gaze. “I’ve never met someone with an imagination like yours.”

 

Arthur blushed and Eames leaned forward to kiss Arthur’s forehead, cherishing the dancer’s mind. Arthur pushed Eames away self-consciously after a moment and took a large gulp of his water. Eames did the same, realizing how thirsty he was. He glanced at his watch and cursed when he saw that it was almost 1:30am, showing Arthur when he asked. No wonder Roger had thought they had fallen asleep; they had been seated with their eyes closed for a long time.

 

Worried about Roger looking for money to get Arthur in trouble, Eames reached for his wallet and handed over some more bills. Arthur took them silently and slipped the money into the breast pocket of his waistcoat. Then Arthur set his glass of water down and leaned back against Eames, though his body didn’t relax as much as it had when they were daydreaming together. “You must hate this, don’t you?” Eames questioned after they had sat in silence for a while. “Having people shove money at you?”

 

“Normally,” Arthur admitted. “It makes me feel like a piece of meat. But...”

 

“But?” Eames prompted, setting his glass down and winding his arm around Arthur’s narrow waist.

 

“But I don’t mind as much when it’s you,” Arthur hummed, beginning to trace circles on Eames’ chest.

 

Eames could feel his heart begin to race, and he knew Arthur could hear it with his head resting on Eames’ chest. “How come?”

 

Arthur hesitated and then began making his circles again. “Because I feel like you actually want to spend time with me, and you don’t just see me as a pretty face you pay for pleasure and then leave behind. You pay the money to protect me, not to touch me.”

 

Eames hugged Arthur close and kissed the top of his head, feeling affection fill him up with warmth. “If I met you outside of this club, I would have begged you until you agreed to go on a date with me,” Eames said with a smile, imagining a moment like that.

 

He could feel Arthur’s smile against his neck where Arthur had his face tucked. He could feel it bloom, lips quirking up, and then he could feel it waver. “We need to stop this,” Arthur warned sadly.

 

“Why?” Eames asked, heart aching.

 

Arthur shifted himself until he was straddling Eames’ legs again, cupping Eames’ cheek with a warm palm. “Because there is no future for us,” Arthur said strongly, although he sounded like the words pained him to say aloud. “You can’t take me on a date, and you’ll have to sit by and watch tomorrow as I’m forced to do who knows what with my client tomorrow. Are you really just going to accept me with open arms after another man finishes with me?”

 

Eames thought for a moment, imagined what it would feel like tomorrow watching Arthur disappear behind a curtain with another man. The pain and the jealousy that would twist his heart, that already was hurting him at the simple thought. Then Eames looked up to hold Arthur’s gaze, locking his eyes on Arthur’s brown ones and not letting him look away. “Yes.”

 

“Why?” Arthur whispered brokenly.

 

Eames framed Arthur’s face with his palms. “Because I don’t think this is you. I think you’ve learned to act to survive, but I don’t think your other clients mean anything to you.”

 

“Aren’t you worried I’m just acting for you as well?” Arthur questioned.

 

“Are you?” Eames raised an eyebrow, even though he was almost positive he knew the answer. His profession was to read people, and he was very good at what he did. He could read the difference between how Arthur acted around Eames and how he acted with other clients, even from afar.

 

Arthur nuzzled one of Eames’ palms. “No.”

 

He looked nervous, worried that Eames wouldn’t believe him. In an attempt to alleviate Arthur’s stress, Eames brushed a thumb over Arthur’s sharp cheekbone. “I believe you.”

 

The relief in Arthur’s smile made Eames’ heart feel like it was going to burst. But Arthur still looked unhappy. “It doesn’t change anything though,” Arthur insisted, contradicting his words as he leaned more fully into Eames’ touch. “You cannot come to this club every night forever, and I cannot follow you when you leave. You are fooling yourself and hurting me with false hope.”

 

“Why does it have to be false?” Eames pressed, not letting Arthur withdraw. “Why can you not leave with me?”

 

“It’s complicated,” Arthur hedged.

 

“Then explain it to me.” Eames was relentless.

 

“You will not like the answer,” Arthur promised sadly. “And besides, we are out of time.” Supporting Arthur’s claim, the last bell was rung for the night. Arthur planted a shy kiss on Eames’ cheek like he had the night before and then withdrew, Eames having no choice but to let him go. “Think about how much you really want to know. Think about what you really want,” Arthur told him strongly. “And then if you’re sure, ask me.”

 

After that Arthur exited through one of the staff doors, leaving Eames alone. Eames’ thoughts were in turmoil as he stood from his armchair, pulled on his jacket and headed for the door. He had a lot of thinking – and planning – to do.

 

#

 

Eames focused all of his attention on Brian, trying desperately to avoid thoughts of what Arthur’s client was making him do behind the curtain. Eames hadn’t made an effort to arrive promptly at the club’s opening since Arthur’s client apparently had him booked for the majority of the evening, so Arthur had been nowhere in sight when Eames finally stepped into the club and searched for a seat. His armchair was occupied and Eames didn’t think it was necessary to fight for it; Arthur wouldn’t be looking for him there. So Eames took a stool on the far end of the bar and sipped his cheap scotch while watching his mark.

 

He would still glance around the club occasionally, trying to occupy himself with watching the dancers on stage or scanning the curtained side of the club for familiar black hair and pale skin. But Arthur was still with his client and Eames could only do his best to observe Brian while trying to avoid getting drunk. It was such a tempting option, the scotch at his fingertips, but he wanted to be conscious and coherent the second Arthur appeared.

 

By midnight Eames was confident in his ability to forge Brian in any role the job might require; he had no idea why Larry had decided to give Eames an entire week to follow his mark. By 12:30am, Eames was getting impatient and had handed in his glass of scotch for a glass of ice water instead, flushing out his system. The warm haze was replaced with an acutely painful awareness of the fact that Arthur was doing unimaginable things with some strange man for money and had no choice in the matter.

 

At 12:45am Roger appeared at Eames’ elbow, all pleasant smiles. Another young dancer was standing half-behind Roger, this one having bright blue eyes and light blond hair. Eames couldn’t help but wonder if he had similar bruises hidden under his fancy attire; judging by his downcast eyes, Eames thought it was likely. “Good evening,” Roger greeted him. “I was wondering if you would be interested in keeping Jeremy company this evening. You look rather lonely.”

 

Eames didn’t respond to the insult, instead turning his gaze fully on Jeremy. He saw that same distant, broken look in blue eyes that he remembered seeing in brown, and Eames wanted to help. But even though he knew it was slightly selfish of him, he had already given Arthur his heart. Eames hoped with a quiet, roiling anger that he could frame Roger along with Brian with this upcoming job and bring his whole business down, giving the dancers a chance to escape to a different life. But Eames’ top priority was Arthur.

 

“I mean no offense, Jeremy,” Eames tried to give a reassuring smile. “But I’m already waiting for someone.”

 

Jeremy nodded, an understanding look softening his eyes that made Eames wonder if Arthur had told the other dancers about him. “I feel I must remind you that Arthur is occupied,” Roger cut in tightly.

 

“Until when?” Eames turned to him, undeterred.

 

Roger pursed his lips, unimpressed as he looked Eames over. “Until 1am. But I cannot promise what state he will be in at that time. He has been kept rather busy.”

 

It was supposed to scare Eames off, remind Eames of exactly what Arthur’s job was whether he liked it or not. It was effective in reminding Eames, and making his heart clench painfully, but it did nothing to dissuade him. “I would like to purchase Arthur’s company for the rest of the evening, and a private room,” Eames stated, catching Jeremy’s small, approving smile at his words.

 

He knew Roger wanted to disagree, but he couldn’t argue with the money Eames placed on top of the bar. “I’ll have Arthur sent to you as soon as he is available.” Roger’s smile was like barbed wire, sharp and dangerous. “Jeremy can escort you.”

 

Roger strode away and Eames ordered a glass of expensive scotch before following Jeremy across the club floor to one of the private rooms. Jeremy held the curtain aside for Eames and then let it fall closed behind them, but the blond dancer remained by the entrance and didn’t pursue Eames to the couch. Eames was surprised by how spacious the private room was, and how soundproofed it was; the walls must be thick and the curtain made of a heavy fabric. He could still hear the club’s music as he settled on the large, wide couch, but he couldn’t hear anything going on in the rooms on either side of him.

 

“Are you going to save him?” Jeremy’s voice caught Eames’ attention, drawing his eyes back to the blond dancer.

 

Eames swallowed, seeing the earnest hope in blue eyes. “I want to.”

 

“Good,” Jeremy nodded. “I just hope you’re not a fake. We dream of guys like you, you know? Or girls, as the case may be for some dancers.”

 

“Like me?” Eames repeated, confused.

 

“Guys with a heart who can see the real us beyond what we’re sold to be,” Jeremy clarified, smiling with a sad longing on his face. “We tell each other stories of our dream guy coming and falling in love with more than our body, overcoming every challenge and whisking us to freedom. I hope you’re Arthur’s guy because he needs some rescuing.”

 

“Is he okay?” Eames asked, though he felt foolish for the question. There was something as heavy as lead in his stomach, pulling him down – dread.

 

Jeremy grimaced and looked at the carpet. “He’s been doing this for a while and he gets the worst of it,” was all Jeremy said before he took a deep, pained breath. “Do you love him?”

 

“I—” His throat was dry and he choked on the words. Did he love Arthur? How could he say those words already? It had only been a few days.

 

“Do you want him to be happy?” Jeremy said instead, seeming to understand Eames’ hesitation and not hold it against him.

 

That question was easy to answer. “I do.”

 

“Then get him out of here,” Jeremy insisted strongly. Eames still didn’t know what to say. “It was nice to meet you, Eames,” Jeremy gave him a small smile and then slid past the curtain, letting it fall back in place behind him.

 

Eames was left alone in the private room, seated on the couch and feeling like he had been struck on the back of the head. The thought of the dancers telling each other stories of someone loving them and taking them away from here, of Arthur telling the other dancers about Eames in this role, of Jeremy’s warning that Arthur needed rescuing. There was something about Jeremy’s voice that added another word to that sentence: he needed rescuing _soon_.

 

He was reeling. But more than anything else, Eames couldn’t get over Jeremy’s second last question. Did Eames love Arthur? It was too early to say. But he _did_ want Arthur to be happy, and the more he thought about it, the more he wanted Arthur out of this club like Jeremy had told him. After yesterday, daydreaming a world so vibrant with Arthur, Eames was actually considering the thought of bringing Arthur into dreamwork. But even if Arthur went off on his own after Eames got him out of here, Eames would be okay with that.

 

As if summoned by Eames’ thoughts, the curtain was swept aside and Arthur stepped into the private room. For a brief moment Arthur looked composed and energetic; then he saw Eames and his mask fell away. Eames realized that Roger must not have told Arthur that Eames was the one to book the private room because Arthur looked really surprised to see him sitting on the couch. And then, after the fake mask and surprise both faded away, Arthur looked angry. “What are you doing, Eames?” Arthur snapped, staying by the curtain.

 

Eames raised his hands in a surrendering motion. “I wanted to see you.”

 

“After some random guy just forced me to—” Arthur cut himself off, paling in the soft lighting of the room. “Eames,” Arthur said harshly. “I’m exhausted and feel disgusting and to be completely honest, I need a very long, very hot shower. You should leave.”

 

Eames tried to ignore the painful pinching sensation in his chest. “I just thought that if I got a private room you could rest for your last hour before the club closed,” he did his best to explain while hiding his hurt feelings. He was only trying to help.

 

Arthur shifted his weight from one foot to the other but didn’t approach. “I don’t want you seeing me like this.”

 

“I promised you that I had shelved the rose-tinted glasses, darling,” Eames whispered. “I’m not kidding myself about what you’ve been forced to do. But I’m here anyway, and I don’t want you to feel ashamed.”

 

Arthur’s skin, already pale in the club’s lighting, went ashen as he shook his head, eyes downcast. “How could you possibly want me right now?”

 

“Because of our conversation the first day,” Eames said honestly, “and because of our shared daydream last night.” There were many more reasons he wanted to be near Arthur – he was beautiful and skilled, tantalizing and teasing – but he knew that Arthur would not appreciate comments on his physical appearance when his whole job forced him to sell his body. “I’ve never met anyone so intelligent before that I’ve enjoyed talking to.”

 

“But what I do still bothers you!” Arthur argued. “I can see your eyes looking me over, searching for a hint of what he made me do.” Arthur’s voice broke.

 

Eames’ eyes snapped back to Arthur’s, guilty. “I’m not saying it doesn’t bother me,” Eames stated, knowing there was no value to lying. “But I’m also telling you that I want you anyway.”

 

“Maybe you can stomach talking to me,” Arthur shot back, face tight and body tense as Arthur took a few steps closer. “But there’s no way you could want to touch me after everything I’ve done.” Now Arthur’s voice was weakening, threatening to fade into nothingness.

 

“Actually, the only reason I haven’t pinned you to this couch is because I didn’t think you’d appreciate it considering how much you hate your work,” Eames retorted. It hurt him to hear Arthur talk about himself like this, like he really was good for nothing else.

 

Arthur looked a little taken aback, but not angry like Eames had feared. In fact, Arthur took another few steps closer until his knees brushed Eames’. “I don’t think you’d want my mouth on yours right now,” Arthur whispered, but it sounded like Arthur was begging Eames to prove him wrong.

 

In response, Eames picked up the glass of scotch and held it out to Arthur. “I would argue otherwise.”

 

Arthur took the glass and took a tiny, testing sip. Then he looked at Eames in confused disbelief. “You bought a forty dollar glass of scotch for me to rinse my mouth with?” Eames just raised an eyebrow, challenging. Eyes still locked, Arthur took half the scotch in his mouth and held it there. His face went a little red from the burn of the alcohol until he swallowed and coughed. Then Arthur took the rest into his mouth, swished it around and swallowed again. “Better?” Arthur asked, voice strained as he fought another cough.

 

“I think you were the one who needed the convincing,” Eames retaliated, offering a hand and trying to hold back offering up his heart in his palm.

 

Eames felt his heart flutter when Arthur stepped closer, forcing Eames’ knees apart to stand between his legs. “I don’t feel like doing anything more than kissing,” Arthur told Eames sternly, though his eyes were nervous, skirting back and forth to try to read any anger in Eames’ own eyes.

 

“That’s fine,” Eames promised with a smile. He knew Arthur was probably unused to making commands, but he wanted Arthur to feel like they were on even ground.

 

Arthur leaned closer until Eames could feel his radiating warmth, Arthur’s balance teetering. Eames wanted to reach forward and hold those hips, drag them closer, but he was leaving Arthur in control tonight. “Can you lie on your back?” Arthur requested, fingers tracing the shape of Eames’ face and pushing into his hair. “It would be nice to be in charge for once.”

 

Eames nodded, his smile widening. He shifted around slowly, never willing to look away from Arthur as he sprawled lengthwise across the couch. Arthur watched him with a slightly awed smile and then climbed on top of Eames, knees locking against Eames’ hips. “Can I touch you?” Eames requested, hands hovering between their bodies.

 

“Please do,” Arthur said and then slowly lowered his weight. Eames lifted his hands to slide down Arthur’s back slowly before holding his hips, groaning with pleasure as Arthur’s hot body moulded against his own. Arthur didn’t even need to be standing or in Eames’ lap to dance; whenever he was relaxed and comfortable, Arthur had a precise but fluid way of moving. It reminded Eames of warm water as Arthur wrapped his arms and legs around Eames, pulling them flush together.

 

Eames was aching for the feel of Arthur’s lips, remembering the brief kiss he had stolen the other night in the armchair. But he forced himself to wait, running his hands over Arthur’s body appreciatively where he could reach; he knew it would be so much better if he let Arthur make the first move. And he was right because when Arthur caught Eames’ gaze, silently looking for any complaint and finding none, Eames knew this was it.

 

He felt Arthur’s breath rush across his lips first, and then the soft press of lips against his own. Eames moaned softly, his fingers tensing and relaxing where they held Arthur’s hips; after days of teasing, such a simple brush of lips was enough to send electricity through his nerves. Encouraged, Arthur only paused for a moment before pressing a little closer, angling so that their lips locked together.

 

Eames leaned into the kiss, catching Arthur’s lips and hesitantly brushing his tongue along Arthur’s bottom lip. Arthur gasped softly and opened his mouth for Eames; apparently he didn’t mind Eames acting a little dominant now that he trusted Eames to let him lead when he wanted to. Unwilling to waste his opportunity, Eames slid his tongue further into Arthur’s mouth, exploring and then allowing Arthur to push back and explore in return.

 

Their pace never sped up, though their bodies grew heated while pressed together as their lips continued to dance. They kept refusing to stop for air, cycling through kissing, panting, laughing breathlessly and then meeting for another kiss a little frantically. Arthur’s fingers wove into Eames’ hair and Eames raised one hand to hold the curve of Arthur’s neck, both of them refusing to let the other move away.

 

At one point they had begun another dance, their bodies slowly rocking against one another and together. Eames was at least half hard in his pants and he could feel Arthur’s interest as well, but he kept his hands above clothing. He remembered Arthur saying that he didn’t want to do anything more than kissing tonight. If Arthur had changed his mind he was more than welcome to dip his hands lower; Eames’ noises of pleasure were enough of an invitation. But to Eames’ surprise, even though he was aroused, he didn’t feel unfulfilled when their encounter didn’t progress.

 

There was something about Arthur’s lips locked with his own, his breath fanning over Eames’ face and neck when they paused for air, his body aligning with Eames’ perfectly, the way Arthur’s fingers clutched almost too tightly and shook when they kissed for too long but refused to break apart... Eames wanted this forever; never wanted it to end and would never need anything else.

 

The chime of the final bell was what ruined it. Arthur leaned back slightly, dazed as he looked at the curtain and the direction of the rest of the club and then back down at Eames. His face was flushed, lips swollen and red from kisses, and his hair dishevelled from whenever Eames had threaded his fingers through his hair without thought. Eames knew he probably looked similar; he could feel the heat on his skin and the tingling of his lips.

 

They were both dazed and unwilling to part, their lower bodies still moving together without either of them really thinking about it. But they only had a few more minutes together; Roger would no doubt interrupt them precisely at closing time based on how unhappy he seemed to be with Eames’ interest in Arthur. “Arthur, I—” Eames began a little desperately, not entirely sure what he was planning to say, though his tightening hold around Arthur was probably a good hint.

 

Arthur seemed to know though, because he whispered “I don’t want to stop either” and then was kissing Eames again. This kiss was different though, faster and frenzied. They were already out of time but Eames didn’t care, hooking a leg overtop Arthur’s to keep him pinned while also arching his groin up a bit, rutting their clothed erections together more insistently. Arthur moaned and rocked against Eames, pulling away just as Eames groaned Arthur’s name obscenely into the air.

 

“Fuck, I should take care of you,” Arthur said in a rush, his eyes sliding down the length of Eames’ body. He was still panting, lips parted and red, eyes glassy.

 

Eames moaned softly at the thought and then gripped Arthur’s wrists, stopping him from moving down Eames’ body. “It’s alright,” Eames’ own voice surprised him, rough and low. He smiled when he felt Arthur shiver at the sound. “I just wanted to kiss you tonight,” Eames admitted. “I kept dreaming of it,” he added as he teasingly skimmed a finger up Arthur’s spine, causing the dancer to whine and arch.

 

Arthur blushed at his words and leaned down for another kiss, slower and calm again. Then he pulled away with a mischievous look. “I bet I could get you off before Roger got here.”

 

Eames bucked up automatically and cursed, growling warningly when Arthur began sliding down his body again. “As much as I would love that,” Eames wheezed, still trying to slow his racing heart, “I was really hoping that tonight could be a little more...” He trailed off, trying to think of the right word. _Romantic_ seemed wrong but he couldn’t think of anything else.

 

Luckily, Arthur seemed to understand, judging by the way his smile softened. “I like that,” Arthur hummed, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to Eames’ lips. Then the dancer stood up, tugging at his pants until the fabric hung in a way that hid his erection. Eames forced himself up into a seated position, silently reminding his swollen cock that he was the one who turned down Arthur’s offer of a blowjob.

 

Eames didn’t even manage to stand up before Arthur was stepping into his personal space again, tilting his face upward for another dizzying kiss. They kept kissing like that, Arthur standing between Eames’ legs while their lips danced, no doubt able to see Eames’ obvious interest any time he glanced down. But soon the club’s music dimmed and the chatting sound of clients heading for the door grew louder, and Eames knew Roger would be on his way to their room.

 

Arthur pulled away again and leaned against the table, watching Eames appraisingly as he stood and tried to tug the fabric of his own pants into some order that would at least half hide his erection. He didn’t want Arthur getting in trouble for leaving a client ‘unsatisfied’. Arthur remained leaning but looked like he wanted to press Eames back down onto the couch, eyes dark as Arthur watched him.

 

“Arthur,” Eames said softly, catching the dancer’s attention. He lifted a hand and smiled when Arthur took it, lacing their fingers together and letting their joined hands rest at their sides. “I haven’t forgotten about what you told me last night. I want to know why it’s so complicated for you to leave so I can help you escape this place regardless of the challenges.”

 

The smile on Arthur’s face wavered and then returned stronger than ever. They couldn’t say anything else since Roger swept the curtain aside at that moment, no doubt hoping to catch them in an awkward position judging by the man’s slightly disappointed look at finding them both standing apart and fully clothed. “Problem, sir?” Roger’s eyes flicked to Eames.

 

“None,” Eames smiled, because he could see a look of nervous excitement in Arthur’s beautiful brown eyes; Arthur wanted to tell him everything and was ready to do so.

 

“Mister Eames wishes to book a private room for our scheduled time together tomorrow. And a private stage on his final night,” Arthur spoke up, looking to Eames for support when Roger turned his sharp gaze onto his dancer.

 

Roger’s eyes shot back to Eames. “Yes, I would,” Eames agreed seamlessly, hiding his surprise. “If you inform me of the cost I can bring you the extra money tomorrow at opening.”

 

Eames could barely contain his laughter when Roger shifted his gaze back and forth between client and dancer, suspicious but uncertain. Eames loved that he seemed to be able to communicate with Arthur so well; it was just like when they daydreamed together, one picking up the thread and continuing on when the other’s thought ended. They were so in sync that it left everyone on the outside baffled.

 

“Yes, well...” Roger cleared his throat, looking back to the mostly-empty club. “That can be arranged. Arthur, get cleaned up in the back. Eames and I can discuss prices while I see him to the door.”

 

“Alright.” Arthur sent Eames a private smirk and excused himself. Eames watched him go, appreciating the extra sway Arthur added to his hips, and then let Roger lead him to the door without complaint.

 

#

 

Eames paid Roger and was led to a private room without comment. Arthur was already there, dressed to the nines as always as he lounged on the couch. The curtain fell into place behind Eames, leaving him alone with Arthur for the next four hours. Roger had apparently given up on trying to pry them apart – but looked rather annoyed at this anyway as he stiffly wished Eames a pleasurable evening.

 

Once Eames was sure Roger was gone and they wouldn’t be disturbed – Roger had no right to intrude on their private room until the club closed – he stepped forward until he forced Arthur’s legs to spread, reminiscent of their night before. Arthur was still resting back against the couch, legs spread willingly as he smirked up at Eames. Eager to finally tease Arthur in return, Eames leaned forward and rested his hands on the back of the couch, spreading and framing the dancer.

 

“So...” Eames purred, tilting his head down to watch Arthur watching him, taking in the way Arthur’s pupils darkened his gaze. Arthur had Eames pinned in place with his gaze, head tilted back with the pale smooth expanse of his neck on display. “Should we talk first?”

 

“I think that should come second,” Arthur hummed, smirking as he lifted both hands to catch the back of Eames’ neck and head to drag him down into a deep, heady kiss. Eames had no desire to argue and allowed Arthur pull him down, his body tingling as their lips slid and locked together. For a few long minutes they kissed, knowing they had plenty of time together. Eames let Arthur nudge his mouth open with a curious tongue and then devoured Arthur’s mouth in return.

 

His body was aching to feel Arthur flush against him again, different options flashing through his mind as he groaned and deepened the kiss. Eames could get on his knees, or he could pull Arthur on top him again, or he could pin Arthur’s beautiful body to the couch... He moved one hand from the back of the couch to cradle the base of Arthur’s head, fingers curling in hair as he kissed Arthur’s breath away and stole a few pleased moans at the same time.

 

He smiled into the kiss when he felt Arthur attempting to rise at the same time as he tried to pull Eames down; Arthur didn’t seem to mind who gave in first as long as they ended up together. Eames pulled back just enough that their lips detached, both of them groaning in displeasure at the loss of contact. Tentatively, Eames moved one hand down to the buttons of Arthur’s waistcoat, tugging playfully and questioningly. “Is this okay?” he breathed into the warm air between them.

 

“Eames,” Arthur smiled, moving a hand down to join Eames’ and help him undo the top button demonstratively. “I’ve been doing this job for a while and I hate it. It makes me feel worthless. But then you came along.” The second button was undone. “You’re the first person I remember enjoying talking to who isn’t a fellow dancer.” The third button was undone, Arthur’s hand still leading Eames’ own. “And I actually dream about that world we imagined together,” Arthur whispered, smiling wider when he heard Eames’ small gasp of surprise at his words.

 

“Arthur...” Eames whispered, leaning closer, eager for another kiss.

 

“Hush,” Arthur smirked, taking full control over Eames’ hand to pull the last button apart. The waistcoat fell open invitingly and Arthur led Eames’ hand back up to the collar of his crisp shirt. Eames could drag his fingers against the edge of Arthur’s collarbone and along the dip of his neck for a few moments before Arthur dragged him back down to the next row of buttons that needed to be dealt with.

 

Eames brushed his pinkie finger across the top button, eager for more. But Arthur’s expression made him pause; Arthur was smiling affectionately, but his face was also serious. “I’ve given a lot of men pleasure,” Arthur said. Shame rang through his voice but he didn’t give Eames a chance to interject. “But you are the first to make me love my own body.” The first button of Arthur’s shirt came undone. “You make me feel like I’m worth something more.”

 

Another button opened and then Arthur gave Eames control of his hand again. Immediately Eames snuck his hand beneath Arthur’s shirt, palm and fingers spread over skin and the intimate ridge of Arthur’s collarbone. “You are worth so much more, darling,” Eames insisted, thumb resting in the hollow of Arthur’s neck. “I just want to make sure you never feel obligated to do something like this again.”

 

“Obligated?” Arthur smirked in amusement. Arthur seemed to realize that Eames’ hand had found it’s home and wasn’t going to move, so he brought both of his hands to begin deftly undoing his own shirt. Eames drank in each new inch of skin that was bared, promising himself that he would taste and mark it all someday. “I’ve never even wanted to kiss a client before you. Now I touch myself each morning in the shower thinking about you.” Arthur’s shirt fell open just like his waistcoat, chest and stomach on display for Eames’ pleasure. “By helping me love my own body, I now want to love _your_ body.”

 

And that was where Eames’ self control ran out. With quick fingers he helped Arthur out of his shirt and waistcoat, setting the fabric on the table. He caught Arthur’s lips in a rush, kissing with tongue and teeth, and then dropped his head down to kiss Arthur’s jaw and the line of his neck. Eames settled on his knees between Arthur’s spread legs and gripped Arthur’s hips, dragging him closer to mouth across the pale, taut stomach in front of him.

 

At the same time, Arthur’s fingers tugged at the buttons of Eames’ shirt. It wasn’t long before Eames’ own chest and stomach was on display and he let Arthur push his shirt and suit jacket off his shoulders eagerly before shrugging it off the rest of the way, fabric falling to the carpet and forgotten. Eames returned his attention to Arthur’s body, kissing and licking along Arthur’s waistband with one warm palm cupping Arthur’s cock through his pants, massaging as he felt Arthur twitch and swell.

 

“I want to suck you off,” Eames said gruffly, looking up the expanse of Arthur’s body for permission.

 

In the soft lighting of the private room, Eames could see that Arthur was blushing. “That’s not how this works normally,” Arthur mumbled.

 

“When have we ever been normal?” Eames shot back, eyes never leaving Arthur as he popped the button of Arthur’s pants.

 

Arthur moaned in the back of his throat when Eames dropped his face down to lap at the hot ridge of Arthur’s cock through his pants, turning the fabric moist. “But I wanted to give you a blowjob too,” Arthur whined, though his hands slid down to help Eames undo the second button and zipper of his pants while Eames continued to suck at Arthur’s length through his pants.

 

“Wait your turn,” Eames laughed breathlessly, hooking his fingers under the waistband of Arthur’s pants and underwear to begin dragging it down over the swell of his ass. Eames could see the wet patch on the crotch of Arthur’s pants where Eames had roamed with his mouth and tongue, and it made him eager to reach what was hidden beneath.

 

“Wait, Eames,” Arthur said, locking his legs together to hinder Eames’ attempt to strip off his pants. Eames froze and glanced up quickly, worried he had gone too far. But he could see that Arthur was smiling – breathing quickly and flushed, yes, but still smiling. “Together.”

 

It took a second for Eames to understand and then he was reaching up to drag Arthur into a messy, heated kiss. He swallowed Arthur’s groans and offered a few of his own before finally pulling away, overheated and impatient. Eames stood on shaky legs and fumbled with the clasps on his pants as he kicked off his shoes, nearly breaking his zipper as he pulled it down and yanked off his pants, throwing them aside. He didn’t even have enough awareness to feel self conscious – to think about how many other men Arthur had seen in this state of undress – because all of his attention was on Arthur finally kicking off his own shoes and pants and falling back onto the couch. Entirely naked and all for Eames.

 

Eames took a moment just to stare, taking in the lean muscles hidden beneath Arthur’s slight frame. He realized that he had never actually seen Arthur dancing during the time he had been at this club, but based on his physique, Eames felt safe assuming Arthur would look divine on a stage, twisted around a pole. The simple thought was enough to make his mouth water and Eames crowded in close to Arthur again, kissing him greedily.

 

There was something about kissing someone when you were naked that felt different. Warm air wrapped around every inch of Eames’ body that Arthur was not already claiming with his hands. Although a small part of him had been nervous about this, about being so exposed to someone who had probably seen it all, quite literally, Eames felt free. As he lay down on his back on the couch, fabric smelling strongly of cleaner but not enough to ruin this moment, Eames actually shivered as Arthur cast an appreciative glance over his body.

 

When their lips met again it felt like Eames was on fire and Arthur was a lightning bolt. Eames was overheated and panting for air, and every inch of Arthur’s body that touched Eames – naked skin melding - sent a little jolt through Eames. He felt like there was electricity turning on every nerve in Eames’ body, leaving every point of contact tingling and thrumming with energy. Eames slid his hands over Arthur’s body without shame, touching everywhere he could reach as they rutted against one another, swelling together.

 

After a long time of greedy indulgence on both their parts, Arthur finally withdrew. Eames was halfway to vocalizing his displeasure when he felt Arthur twisting his body and settling back down, knees carefully surrounding Eames’ shoulders and hands smoothing over Eames’ hips and thighs. “ _Oh fuck_ ,” Eames whispered in anticipation, cursing louder a moment later when he felt a tentative tongue lick him from base to tip.

 

As one of Arthur’s hands circled around Eames’ base, angling his thick cock so that Arthur could flick his tongue against Eames’ slit, Eames was left with the enjoyable image of Arthur’s ass in the air and his cock hanging heavy between his legs. Unwilling to miss his opportunity, Eames slid both hands up Arthur’s thighs to grip his hips and drag him back a few inches and then lead him down.

 

Eames got his mouth around the head of Arthur’s cock and then nearly choked when Arthur gasped and thrust down halfway into Eames’ mouth, trembling under Eames’ touch for a few seconds before lifting his hips again. Eames gasped for air and wiped precome from his lip. “Sorry,” Arthur whispered, shifting for a moment and then stilling, likely realizing that he couldn’t exactly meet Eames’ gaze in their current position. “It’s been a long time...”

 

Even though Eames couldn’t see Arthur’s face, he knew the dancer was blushing. “I don’t mind,” he promised. And then to show that he had no intentions of stopping, he leaned up and circled his tongue around Arthur’s head and then flicked his tongue repeatedly against Arthur’s tip, tasting precome already. Arthur was making beautiful noises above Eames, gasping and whining as he arched and quivered. “Just don’t stop,” Eames reminded Arthur a little breathlessly and then took Arthur into his mouth again.

 

At the same time, Arthur took the hint and took Eames into his mouth as well. It was almost impossible for Eames to focus when he felt Arthur’s hot, wet mouth taking his cock in and then sucking as he withdrew. He actually ended up with Arthur’s cock filling his mouth without moving until Arthur gave a needy groan and thrust his hips weakly, begging for more. Jumping back into action, Eames took Arthur halfway to the back of his mouth and then sucked hard on his retreat.

 

More precome dribbled onto his tongue as Eames picked up a rhythm, moving Arthur’s hips up and down with his hands to match the pace of his mouth and tongue. He swirled his tongue around the head a few times and then traced the thick vein on the underside of Arthur’s cock before taking him back into his mouth, copying a few tricks Arthur was using on him that Eames hadn’t even know about before.

 

The things Arthur was doing to Eames made him feel like a virgin, his body wound tight and quivering each time Arthur touched him. At one point Arthur skimmed his fingers up Eames’ inner thighs and massaged his balls at the same time as the dancer relaxed his mouth and took Eames in deeper, his cock hitting the back of Arthur’s throat before suction was applied and Arthur’s lips slowly dragged over Eames’ cock again.

 

Eames was forced to move his mouth off Arthur’s dripping cock briefly, filling his lungs with air. Arthur seemed to have no interest in pausing though, sucking Eames back down into his mouth at a faster, relentless pace. “Arthur,” Eames moaned, “I can’t—” he moaned louder when Arthur just had his mouth sealed around Eames’ tip as he began tonguing insistently at Eames’ slit. “ _Fuck_ , Arthur I can’t last.”

 

Arthur’s mouth released Eames’ cock with a wet _pop_. “You don’t have to last,” Arthur reminded him, voice ragged and low. Eames shivered at the sound and took Arthur back into his mouth, eager to make Arthur sound even more fucked out. Curiously, Eames imitated Arthur’s movement of tonguing solidly against Arthur’s slit and smirked evilly when Arthur arched down and groaned obscenely, panting heatedly as Eames repeated the action. And then in the softest, most desperate voice Eames had ever heard, Arthur whispered, “ _Please_.”

 

Eames swallowed Arthur down again, fighting his gag reflex to take Arthur deeper. Arthur almost collapsed on top of Eames, arms and legs shaking as he struggled to stay aloft. Eames could feel Arthur panting against Eames’ cock and mouthing at him distractedly, but Eames didn’t mind Arthur pausing in his work; in fact, it just made Eames more eager to drive Arthur over the edge, loving that he could give Arthur pleasure.

 

He knew Arthur was getting close when precome dribbled continuously into Eames’ mouth, Arthur bucking down into his mouth without restraint as he begged for more. Eames kept Arthur’s cock in his mouth and carefully swallowed around him, immediately feeling Arthur going rigid above him. “Eames, I— _fuck_!” Arthur was cut off when Eames swallowed again.

 

Eames moaned as Arthur thrust down, burying his cock in Eames’ mouth as his body twitched and shuddered. Eames breathed in deeply through his nose right before his mouth was filled with come, Arthur spurting large globs of it onto his tongue and against the roof of his mouth. Eames did his best to swallow everything he could, enjoying the way his moving mouth and tongue dragged a few extra gasps and shivers from Arthur’s body.

 

When his body was spent, Arthur fully collapsed on top of Eames. Carefully Eames released his mouth from Arthur’s softening cock, licking his lips clean before brushing his hands soothingly across Arthur’s sweaty back. For a few minutes they lay there like that, Eames’ body still wound tight and hot but his attention focused on the quivering mess that was Arthur on top of him. He also pressed a few kisses to Arthur’s inner thigh where he could reach, wishing he could catch Arthur’s lips again.

 

“You...” Arthur shifted weakly on top of him, still panting. “You didn’t have to swallow,” Arthur said shyly.

 

Eames raised an eyebrow even though Arthur couldn’t see his reaction. “I wanted to,” he said in return.

 

And then, without any sort of warning, Arthur was taking Eames’ leaking cock back into his mouth. Eames groaned and held Arthur’s hips tightly as he attempted to maintain enough control to avoid thrusting up too violently into that skilled mouth. Arthur was relentless though, destroying Eames’ restraint by deep-throating him and swallowing thickly around him again and again, driving him toward the edge so quickly Eames heard a ringing in his ears. All Eames could do was whisper Arthur’s name on repeat and buck up into the pleasurable haze as Arthur pushed him over and licked up every drop of come he sucked from Eames’ body.

 

Arthur continued to lick at Eames’ cock even after it was clean and starting to soften, causing Eames to shift, over-sensitized but still eager for whatever Arthur was going to give him. Finally Arthur relented though, resting his head on Eames’ thigh as they both dragged in shuddering gasps of air. “Holy fuck,” Eames whispered at one point, hearing muffled and body still throbbing with the echo of his orgasm.

 

“Good?” Arthur laughed breathlessly, warm breath teasing Eames’ softened cock but not causing it to stir.

 

“Holy fuck,” Eames said again because he couldn’t think of anything else, his thoughts hazy and his heart hammering in his chest.

 

Apparently closer to recovery than Eames was, Arthur slowly slid off Eames and resituated himself on top of him, face to face now. Arthur leaned forward and hesitantly brushed his lips against Eames’. “Is this okay?” Arthur questioned, not initiating a deeper kiss.

 

“What do you mean?” Eames wound his arms around Arthur, keeping him close. Their skin was sweaty and sticking together but Eames liked it.

 

“I wouldn’t think you’d like the taste...” Arthur trailed off when Eames sent him a look. Before Arthur could say anything else, Eames pulled him down into a deep kiss, slipping his tongue into Arthur’s mouth. He explored for a few minutes, taking in the odd taste of Arthur and Eames’ own saltiness; it wasn’t particularly appealing, but the reason behind the combination had Eames groaning and leaning closer.

 

They continued to kiss until the circulating air in the room chilled the sweat on their skin. At first they refused to pull apart, pressing closer together for warmth as their lips remained locked. But eventually they were forced to separate, movements sluggish and relaxed as they pulled their clothes back on. Eames left his jacket off and Arthur left his waistcoat on the table, both of their pants done up but their shirts fluttering open invitingly.

 

Arthur pushed Eames back down into a seated position onto the couch and straddled his legs, kissing him slow and deep and then resting his head on Eames’ shoulder. “I’m surprised you like this position,” Eames commented after they had been sitting silently for a few minutes, his arms wound loosely around Arthur’s waist to keep him stable.

 

“It’s surprisingly comfortable,” Arthur explained, lips brushing Eames’ neck and still causing a pleasant tingle, showing that Eames was still sensitive to Arthur’s touch; maybe he would always be sensitive to it. “And it means I can stay close,” Arthur added, his arms wrapped around Eames’ shoulders and neck to keep them locked together.

 

Eames turned to kiss Arthur’s temple. “Arthur...” he began and then hesitated, wondering if this was the right time. They were both fucked out and tired, Arthur practically dozing against him. But Eames realized that tomorrow was the last night he would be in this club; he was quickly running out of opportunities. So he took a deep breath and silently prayed for courage. Arthur had stirred when Eames said his name and then had fallen silent, circling a finger across the nape of Eames’ neck curiously. “I want you to leave with me.”

 

Arthur’s body tensed but the dancer didn’t say anything at first. Then he sighed heavily. “You want to know why I said I couldn’t the other night.”

 

“First I want to know if you _want_ to leave with me,” Eames held Arthur a little tighter, fingers bunching up the loose fabric of Arthur’s shirt.

 

Arthur leaned back far enough to meet Eames’ eyes, brown sad and downcast. “How can I let myself dream about something that I know is impossible?”

 

Taking a different tactic, Eames lifted a hand to cup Arthur’s cheek and make sure he couldn’t look away. “I talked to Jeremy last night.” Arthur tensed further but he didn’t pull away. “He was telling me about how all of you dream up someone coming to save you, falling in love with more than your body and fighting for your freedom.”

 

“They’re just stories,” Arthur whispered brokenly. “Comfort for those who cannot find it elsewhere.”

 

“Well it’s not just a story for you because I’m right here,” Eames insisted. Arthur clenched his eyes closed tightly, as if trying to block out Eames’ words. “You can close your eyes for as long as you want, but I’ll still be here when you open them again,” Eames said. “Because I’m not a story, and I’m not a dream. I don’t think that you need rescuing like a damsel because I’ve seen how strong you are; but maybe there is something I can do to help.”

 

“There’s nothing you can do to help!” Arthur snapped, unshed tears causing his dark lashes to stick together in clumps. “You don’t get it! It’s not like I want to stay here. I just can’t leave. Roger isn’t _the_ owner; he’s _my_ owner!”

 

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Arthur’s eyes flashed open as he covered his mouth with both hands, shocked at his own confession. Eames wasn’t doing much better. His eyes were wide, his heart stumbling, his body shuddering with the sensation of ice down his spine promptly followed by a flush of angry heat across his skin. “Your...” was all he managed to voice, his throat constricting, saving him from repeating the word. He remembered feeling a nagging in the back of his mind every time the word ‘owner’ came up, but he had never even imagined...

 

“Yes!” Arthur hissed, turning jerkily away as Eames’ palm fell away from his cheek. Silent tears were running down the dancer’s face. “My family wasn’t exactly well off in the first place and then my parents died when I was still too young to legally work. I had nowhere to go and I was desperate, so when Roger showed up and offered me a contract I just signed it. When I was still young he let me work in the back but as soon as I turned eighteen I worked the floor.”

 

“Your...owner,” Eames said slowly, the words difficult to form on his tongue.

 

In a rush Arthur tried to pull away and stand up but Eames immediately tightened his hold, refusing to let Arthur disappear after this confession. He knew he wasn’t handling things well but he felt like someone had struck him on the back of the head. “I knew you would be disgusted,” Arthur said bitterly, fighting Eames’ hold but only weakly. It almost broke Eames’ heart to feel Arthur only weakly trying to pull away, a part of him still seeking Eames’ comfort.

 

“I’m not disgusted,” Eames said quickly, hugging Arthur tightly against his chest. “I’m angry at the situation,” he admitted, “but not disgusted.” Hesitantly Eames rested his forehead against Arthur’s shoulder, leaning as close as possible. “I just want to help you find your freedom.”

 

“I don’t think you can help,” Arthur’s voice wavered, resting his own forehead back on Eames’ shoulder so that they were both holding each other close. “It’s a legal contract. I can’t leave the country without Roger’s permission, and I don’t even have the money to try.”

 

Arthur’s words kick-started Eames’ brain, helping him shift his mindset from angry and desperate to determined and practical. When Arthur told him the initial problem Eames had felt overwhelmed; but at the mention of money, legal contracts and illegally crossing the border, Eames’ knowledge from his years in dreamwork flooded his mind. This actually sounded like a problem he could potentially solve. So again he asked, “Do you want to leave with me?”

 

Arthur must have heard something different in Eames’ voice because he straightened in Eames’ lap. Eames raised a hand and felt his heart swell when Arthur let him brush a few stray tears aside, Arthur seemingly calmed somewhat. Arthur studied Eames seriously, eyebrows furrowed as he read Eames’ face. Then he nodded. “I don’t know what we’d do or where we’d go but I know I don’t want tomorrow to be the last night I see you. But even if you don’t want me with you, I want a different life than this.”

 

“I want you with me,” Eames said quietly. “But my main goal is getting you out of here. And I think I know a way we can do that.” Arthur narrowed his eyes slightly in concentration, waiting for Eames’ explanation. “I told you about dreamwork, and about what I do. I don’t think it’ll come as a shock to you for me to say that what I do isn’t usually legal, and that I have some forging abilities outside of dreams.”

 

Eames was grateful that Arthur didn’t seem fazed by the mention of illegal work, even though Eames had hinted at it the other night. Arthur actually jumped on the idea quite readily, intelligence kicking in and grasping at Eames’ words. “You think you could get me out of the country?”

 

“I think I could make the documents you needed well enough to get you out of the country,” Eames agreed, “though we’d want to get you to a real professional for some long term identification documents that will last you once we get away from Roger.”

 

“Where do you have all the money for this?” Arthur questioned seriously. “And why are you willing to spend it all on me?”

 

“Illegal dreamwork pays well,” Eames said simply. “And I’ve never found anyone else I was willing to spend the money on. Money doesn’t make me happy, Arthur; but using it to help you find freedom would.”

 

Arthur pressed a soft, shy kiss to Eames’ lips. “Can we do this? Tell me it’s safe to believe.”

 

“It’s safe,” Eames promised. “Because I’ll do everything I can. But it’s not going to be as simple as it sounds,” Eames said worriedly. “I can’t get the documents finished by tomorrow night, and I can’t leave the country tomorrow night anyway. I need to finish this job with Larry first, but I don’t trust him to know about you.”

 

“Not to mention that Roger probably has Larry’s credit information since I doubt he was intelligent enough to pay for cash that first night,” Arthur added grimly. “Roger will probably go to Larry first as soon as I disappear, since he’ll be looking for you.” Arthur took a deep, steadying breath. “I’ll have to stay here until you have the documents ready and can leave the country, won’t I?”

 

“I don’t want you to...” Eames grumbled, weathering his bottom lip at the thought.

 

“It’s alright,” Arthur reassured him, fingers playing with the short hairs on the back of Eames’ neck, but the dancer’s dull voice was far from reassuring. “I’ve been here for years. Another few days won’t make much difference.”

 

“Arthur, I’m coming back for you,” Eames said strongly.

 

Arthur nodded his understanding, practiced smile forced onto his lips. Eames felt his heart sinking at the sight of it. “How long do you think the job will take? Roger won’t let me leave with you anyway so this might work better. I can sneak away one day when he has us run errands.”

 

“I’m meeting with Larry on Sunday, then we may take an extra day to make sure everything is set up,” Eames said. “The job itself will only take a few hours.”

 

“Would you be done Wednesday?” Arthur asked. “Roger sends me out on Wednesdays around noon to the farmer’s market at the open square on Broadview. I could meet you there.”

 

“That sounds perfect,” Eames agreed quickly. “I’ll start on the documents tonight so we can catch a plane as soon as we meet up at the market. We’ll be gone by the time Roger realizes you’re taking too long to get back.” Eames brushed aside a few strands of Arthur’s hair shyly, concerned when Arthur didn’t say anything. “Arthur?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur whispered, smiling sadly. “I just can’t seem to let myself believe you. I’ve dreamed of someone like you coming along for so long now. I’m too scared of being disappointed.”

 

“Just promise me you’ll give me a chance to prove you wrong,” Eames slid his fingers further into Arthur’s hair, stroking calmingly. “I want you at that market at noon so I can be terribly cheesy and make your dream come true,” he laughed lightly, grinning widely when he saw Arthur’s smile turn genuine. “I’ll work on helping you believe it’s not a dream once we’re out of danger.”

 

Arthur silenced Eames with a deep, passionate kiss. Eames moaned and leaned into it, hoping this was Arthur’s rather enjoyable way of agreeing. He let Arthur lead the pace, the dancer kissing him slow and unhurried for a long time. He had a feeling Arthur was trying to change the subject, still struggling to accept Eames’ promises. But Eames let Arthur distract him because as long as Arthur was there at that market on Wednesday, Eames would have his opportunity to prove himself.

 

After a while Arthur’s lips slowed, and Eames took over to press soft kisses across Arthur’s face. When he paused he could see that Arthur looked to be about half asleep in Eames’ lap, smile on his lips and eyes half-lidded. “Are you alright?” Eames questioned softly.

 

Arthur nodded, though his eyes drifted shut further. “What would you like to do now?” Arthur asked, voice hushed and slow. Eames felt Arthur’s hand pulling at his wrist, looking at his watch. “You have me for another two and a half hours.” Teasing, Arthur began mouthing slowly along Eames’ neck. “What would you like to do with me?”

 

Eames shivered at the sensation and Arthur’s words but his concern was stronger than his arousal. “I think I should let you sleep,” Eames hummed, lips against Arthur’s ear.

 

In a rush Arthur sat up straight, forcing his eyes open wide. “I’m not going to sleep on the job,” Arthur scolded Eames with a huff. “You’re still a client. And beyond that, I don’t want your money going to waste.”

 

“Getting to feel you sleeping on top of me will be well worth the money,” Eames told Arthur, running a hand across Arthur’s back in slow, soothing circles. Already he could see Arthur’s eyelids begin to droop again, Arthur fighting down a yawn. “And I’m hardly a normal client. We’ve already spent a few of our nights just talking and daydreaming together, and that’s all I wanted.”

 

“But this is my job,” Arthur grumbled weakly. “And I’m good at it.”

 

“No one would argue otherwise,” Eames continued to sooth Arthur. “But you don’t need to act professional around me. If you’re this tired and you can get a few hours of rest away from Roger, I don’t see why you should fight it.”

 

“It’s your fault for being so warm,” Arthur accused without any real bite, tucking his face in the crook of Eames’ neck. Eames laughed softly and held Arthur close as he carefully manoeuvred them both onto the couch, Eames on his back with Arthur sprawled comfortably on top of him. Arthur resituated himself so that his limbs were wound around Eames’ body and his face was pressed back against Eames’ neck. “You’re the weirdest person I’ve ever met.”

 

“ _Unique_ , darling,” Eames corrected, kissing the top of Arthur’s head. “And what makes you think so?”

 

“You came to a strip club for an entire week and with your time and money you only accepted two lap dances and one blowjob,” Arthur chuckled, puffs of breath warming Eames’ skin. “The rest of the time you talked to me, daydreamed with me, and are now insisting that I sleep.”

 

“Plenty of time for everything else later,” Eames said a little shyly, knowing Arthur was still nervous about hoping for a future outside this club. He felt Arthur hug him a little tighter in response. “Besides, you can’t deny that you’ve been enjoying yourself, right?” He received no reply. “Arthur?”

 

Lying silently for a few moments, Eames took in Arthur’s silence and the slow, even pace of Arthur’s chest rising and falling against Eames’ own. Arthur had already fallen asleep. Eames pressed another affectionate kiss to the top of Arthur’s head and remained silent, not wanting to wake the dancer up when he clearly seemed exhausted. Eames wasn’t sure if he would be able to join Arthur in sleep, but to be safe he carefully lifted his arms over Arthur’s head and set the alarm on his watch to give them some time to wake up before Roger stormed in again. Then he delicately lowered his arms back down and wound them around Arthur. He wanted to continue touching every inch of his body but cared more about letting Arthur sleep.

 

For a while he lay there silently, taking in the pleasant warmth that filled him up at the knowledge and sensation of Arthur trusting him enough to fall asleep with him, leaving himself vulnerable under Eames’ care. The sound of the club’s music and people calling out to whoever was dancing on stage always present but not loud enough to be intrusive.

 

Eames lost track of time focusing on Arthur’s quiet breathing and before he knew it, he was jolting awake by the annoying beep of his watch. He jumped enough to jostle Arthur awake as well, earning a confused grunt as Arthur woke in a daze and tried to figure out his situation. Eames quickly turned off his watch, eyes bleary after his short nap. Arthur was tense on top of Eames, nervous until he finally focused on Eames below him. Arthur still blinked at him slowly for a few seconds until his memory finally caught up with him and the dancer finally relaxed, lying back down on top of Eames.

 

“I’m sorry for sleeping your time away,” Arthur mumbled against Eames’ collarbone, Eames’ shirt having fallen fully open while they slept.

 

“I slept too,” Eames threaded his fingers absent-mindedly through Arthur’s hair. “It was really nice sleeping with you.”

 

Arthur chuckled and finally sat up, rubbing at his tired eyes. “Definitely unique,” Arthur said affectionately, watching Eames as they both brushed off their drowsiness.

 

They had another ten minutes until the last bell was rung so they stole a few minutes to sit together on the couch, yawning and stretching and then kissing like they woke up together all the time – familiar and warm. Eventually they had to stand up and get suitably dressed, doing up their shirts and pulling on their accessories while stealing the occasional glance at the other’s body before everything was hidden beneath clothing once again.

 

With five minutes left, both of them decided that they had no interest in waiting for Roger to show up and ruin their time together. Eames was halfway to the curtain when Arthur came up behind him, pinning his back against the wall and pressing in close for another sensual kiss. Eames groaned when he felt Arthur grinding his hips forward, teasing as Arthur pulled away just enough to smirk against Eames’ mouth. “Tomorrow you get a show,” was all Arthur whispered before pulling the curtain aside and slipping out of view.

 

Eames remained against the wall for another few seconds, dazed. Then he forced himself to stumble toward the exit, grin plastered across his face at the thought of what Arthur had planned for him.

 

#

 

When Arthur greeted Eames at the door, dressed as normal, Eames was a little confused. But he allowed the dancer to lead him up to the second floor balcony and into a private room. The sound of a lock clicking behind him was a pleasing one, Arthur sending him a knowing smile as he slid the lock in place; Roger wouldn’t be bothering them tonight.

 

After that the details of the room caught Eames’ attention. A couch was against the wall with a small table in front of it, similar to the curtained rooms a floor below. But what was noticeably different in this room was the fact that there was a small wooden stage on the other side of the room from the couch, with a shiny metal pole connecting the floor and ceiling.

 

Eames swallowed thickly, watching Arthur circle around him with a glint in his eyes. Arthur stopped in front of Eames and slid his fingers up Eames’ chest, fingers brushing along Eames’ neck before catching the collar of his jacket and slowly pushing it away. Eames let the fabric slip away and fall to the floor in a heap, utterly entranced by Arthur’s smile and touch.

 

“Arthur,” Eames breathed, leaning a little closer so that he could feel the warmth of Arthur’s body close to his own. “Are you sure about this?”

 

“I was the one who planned this, wasn’t I?” Arthur sent him a pointed look and then returned his hands to Eames’ shoulders. The slight weight and warmth was enough to cause Eames to shiver and want more, want everything.

 

“I know,” Eames said softly. Even though this room meant they finally had full privacy, the intimacy of their closeness and touch made Eames feel like he should whisper each word. “But I don’t want you to feel obligated. You’ve been forced to do this for so many people.”

 

Arthur leaned forward to kiss Eames softly. “And since I have finally found someone I _want_ to do this for, I figured I should do it before I leave this life behind.” Eames was left speechless and could only steal another kiss, Arthur returning it for a few minutes before shoving him away playfully. “On the couch with you, Mister Eames.”

 

A part of Eames just wanted to take Arthur with him – pin him, strip him – but he forced himself to sit on the couch alone. “Any rules?” Eames asked cheekily, purposefully loosening his tie slowly to catch Arthur’s eye and tease the dancer a little in return.

 

“Just one,” Arthur smirked, watching Eames’ fingers tug at his tie before forcing himself to look away and step up onto the stage. “No touching yourself.”

 

“Anywhere?” Eames grumbled, already knowing how turned on he was going to get by Arthur’s display.

 

“You know where,” Arthur shot back with a noticeable glance down at Eames’ crotch. Then he turned and clicked on a stereo, a slow beat with a bass line that thrummed through Eames’ veins filling the room and overpowering the club music beyond the walls. Immediately Eames liked the music because it was not distracting as Arthur sat on the edge of the raised stage, slowly undoing the laces of his shoes; the music was merely a guiding beat that would lead this performance.

 

To the slow beat of the music Arthur slowly stripped for Eames, sliding off his shoes and socks before stepping up onto the stage barefoot. Then Arthur’s fingers moved to his own tie, climbing higher to skim up his neck before sliding the silky fabric of his tie from his collar. The tie fluttered to the stage but Arthur was already moving onward, fingers tugging playfully at the buttons of his waistcoat – a dark purple tonight.

 

The best part of the whole strip tease was that, even though Eames was stuck sitting on the couch, he felt like he was a part of it. Arthur kept their eyes locked for every second, not needing to look down to find the buttons and clasps of his clothing. When he saw Arthur’s eyes soften or glaze at certain moments, his own fingers teasing his slowly-exposed skin, Eames knew Arthur was imagining Eames’ hand instead of his own, drawing Eames into the fantasy.

 

It took a long time for Arthur to strip fully but Eames didn’t mind, relishing every inch of bared skin. Clothing littered the stage floor and Eames licked his lips, imagining he had left them there in his haste to strip Arthur, taste his skin. Despite not actually wanting to be in this profession, Arthur was very skilled at his craft. His movements were so fluid and sensual, matching the beat of the music. Just watching from a distance, Eames could envision Arthur moving against him just like that as Eames touched him, took him.

 

After a long while Arthur was standing only in a tight pair of black briefs that might as well have been a thong, covering just enough in the front and offering a lovely view of Arthur’s round ass when he spun slowly. Eames could already feel his pants growing tight but he did his best to keep his hands away from his cock like he had been ordered. That didn’t stop him from fully removing his tie though, or undoing his shirt. Arthur didn’t chide him for it; in fact, the dancer watched Eames greedily as Eames let his shirt fall open.

 

Shortly after Arthur had finished stripping down, the music changed. The beat was still strong but it was faster, offering more of a rhythm. Eames caught Arthur’s confident smile before the dancer strode over to the metal pole, fingers curling around the circumference in a very telling fashion. Eames groaned and slid his hands against his thighs, wiping away sweat from the memory of those skilled fingers wrapping around his own length. Undoubtedly knowing what Eames was thinking, Arthur slid his grip up and down the pole a few times before stepping closer, pressing his body against the metal.

 

Eames wasn’t quite sure what to expect so when Arthur got a firm grip on the pole, lifted a foot against the pole like he was stepping on an invisible step and then _climbed_ up the pole, Eames let out an audible moan. He could see each of Arthur’s muscles working across his legs, back and arms as Arthur climbed up, hooked a leg and slowly arched back. Eames could only imagine the practice and strength it took Arthur to stay in position, holding himself up as the muscles across his stomach drew taut.

 

“You’re beautiful,” Eames praised, eyes catching Arthur’s smile even though the dancer was focused and didn’t turn to look at his audience. “Absolutely stunning,” he added, not needing Arthur to respond. He just wanted Arthur to hear the praise, to know how amazing and skilled he was. Because even though Arthur had been forced to learn this, the dance was still beautiful.

 

Arthur chuckled a little breathlessly and pulled himself flush against the pole again, climbing up further before carefully turning upside down, legs wound around the pole. In this position Arthur ended up staring at Eames while upside down, eyes bright and face flush red from exertion and blood rushing to his head. “Like it?” Arthur taunted, winking. Eames let out a low growl, eyes roaming freely as his hand slid down his chest and over his stomach. “Ah ah,” Arthur chided him. “No touching.”

 

“It’s not fair to tease me like this when you’re so damn perfect,” Eames groused roughly, though he did as he was told and returned his grip to his belt to keep himself focused on not dropping his hands lower.

 

“I don’t think perfect is the word,” Arthur argued quietly as he pulled himself back up to the pole, stomach muscles twitching and clenching as they were lit up by the lights above the stage.

 

“I do,” Eames shot back, grinning when Arthur sent him a thankful smile.

 

“I’m trying to concentrate here,” Arthur complained, though his playful glance brushed away any seriousness in his tone. Arthur slid down the pole with excruciating slowness, movements liquid and planned. “I’ve never met anyone so chatty.”

 

“You love it,” Eames laughed, enjoying the brief banter as Arthur’s feet touched the stage and the dancer swung around the pole loosely, grinding his ass and then his crotch up against the pole occasionally just to tease.

 

At Eames’ words, Arthur glanced up at Eames through his lashes, shy and unsure. Eames felt his heart lodge in his throat and then sprout wings at that look, and the accompanying blush and private smile. He hadn’t meant to use such a heavy word, or at least he hadn’t been expecting Arthur to take it seriously. But with the way Arthur hesitated, staring at Eames like he had a secret, Eames began to wonder if the word actually wasn’t too heavy for them at all.

 

Arthur didn’t respond though, eventually sliding back into his rhythm and his routine. Arthur climbed the pole again, face clear and eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he danced around the pole. Each time Arthur got into a new position he would hold it, showing off his body which was now covered in a thin sheen of sweat from his work. Eames could never – _would_ never grow tired of watching Arthur’s body dance and his muscles tense; though he was looking forward to the time when Arthur would be in his lap again. Eames gripped the fabric of his pants tightly as he watched Arthur, wanting to touch him, take him, _claim_ him.

 

At one point Eames began wondering how Arthur had the stamina to keep going. Arthur had to occasionally touch back down onto the stage to wipe his hands free of sweat to keep himself from falling, and Arthur was breathing a little heavily, chest rising and falling quicker as he continued to move. Eames checked his watch and was shocked to see that he had already had Arthur in the private room for an hour between the excruciatingly leisurely strip tease and the dancing.

 

“Bored, Mister Eames?” Arthur asked, trying to sound light but not quite able to hide the hurt in his tone.

 

“Never,” Eames said immediately, glancing back up to find Arthur watching him, eyes a little sad. “Arthur,” Eames said lowly, spreading his legs wider so Arthur could see his very obvious erection straining his pants. “You can see how _interested_ I am,” he emphasized the word with a tiny bucking of his hips. “I was just wondering how you still had the energy to keep going.”

 

“I like it when you watch me,” Arthur explained simply, eyes still on Eames’ erection. “It gives me the energy to keep going.”

 

Eames felt his cock twitch in his pants when Arthur licked his lips, eyes still on Eames with his legs spread wide as his hands clenched the pole tightly, still holding himself aloft. “Well don’t get too tired,” Eames warned. “I have no intention of just watching you tonight.”

 

Most of Arthur’s skin was flush from exertion now, but the blush on his face darkened further. “What are your plans for me?” Arthur asked in a way that implied he knew _exactly_ what Eames was thinking. And before Eames could even begin to form the words to explain everything he wanted to do to Arthur, he saw that the dancer was beginning to move again.

 

For a moment Arthur just tightened his grasp on the pole, ensuring his stability, and then he slowly moved away from the pole. Only his hands’ grip was keeping him up, the rest of his body hovering a few inches into thin air. Arthur sent Eames a wicked grin and began rocking his hips forward and back, mimicking the way Eames was going to make Arthur’s body move soon enough. “Are you going to take me like this?” Arthur breathed, rocking against the pole.

 

Self control had never been one of Eames’ strongest suits and before he even really made the conscious decision, he was standing up and striding across the few feet to the stage. Arthur didn’t make any noise of protest and merely watched Eames approach and duck around his legs. Eames found the perfect position where his back was pinned against the pole and Arthur was hanging in front of him.

 

Without waiting for permission, Eames grasped Arthur’s thighs and hooked them over his shoulders, wanting to make sure Arthur wouldn’t fall. Then he slipped his fingers under Arthur’s thong and tugged, the knots and fabric falling away to the floor easily. Eames only sent one glance upward to ensure Arthur was not going to protest, and then he leaned forward and took Arthur’s half hard cock into his mouth.

 

“Fuck, _Eames_ ,” Arthur groaned, thrusting forward immediately. Eames smirked and sucked harder, pleased with himself when he felt Arthur harden and swell quickly in his mouth. He could heard Arthur breathing harshly above him, more of the dancer’s weight falling on Eames’ shoulders as Arthur’s focus – and grip – faltered at the movements of Eames’ mouth. Arthur continued to curl his body around Eames, breath rustling the hair on the top of Eames’ head as he swirled his tongue and continued to suck.

 

“Good?” Eames released his mouth just long enough to tease, ducking under to run his tongue along the underside of Arthur’s cock and then around the crown before licking his slit and taking him into his mouth again. His own cock began to soak the front of his pants as Arthur moaned shamelessly and began thrusting forward more insistently, picking up a rhythm.

 

“Eames, I want you to fuck me, _please_ ,” Arthur whined, panting loudly near Eames’ ear. “I want to feel you before you go.”

 

Eames forced himself to pull his lips off Arthur’s cock with a wet sucking sound, tilting his face up so that he was staring right at Arthur, no distance between them. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said strongly. Arthur’s eyes widened but Arthur had nowhere else to look. Eames took in his beautiful irises and blown pupils, willing Arthur to believe him. “I’m coming back for you, Arthur.”

 

Arthur stared at him for another few seconds, both of them breathing hard. Then Arthur nodded and ducked down for a kiss, not minding his own taste on Eames’ lips. “I believe you,” Arthur whispered when they finally parted. “But I’m still not letting you out of this room tonight until you take me.”

 

“That will not be a problem,” Eames said easily, pulling Arthur down into another long kiss. It was only when his shoulders began to ache at holding all of Arthur’s weight up that Eames finally broke the kiss to catch his breath and progress this encounter. “How does the couch sound?”

 

“Dull,” Arthur admitted and then laughed. “But it’ll suffice for now. I refuse to get fucked on the wood floor.”

 

Eames choked on his laugh as he carefully stepped away from the pole, waiting for Arthur to regain his balance before carefully walking them off the stage and toward the couch. “You’re pretty shameless, aren’t you?” he asked affectionately as he lay Arthur down on the couch, taking in the way the dark red fabric made it look like Arthur’s pale skin was flushed even deeper.

 

“I rarely find something I actually want,” Arthur said, making quick work of pushing Eames’ shirt off his shoulders and dropping his hands to work on the belt. “So when I _do_ find something I want, I make sure I get it.”

 

Arthur was cut off by Eames’ lips pressed against his own, but his fingers continued to work. Eames held himself above Arthur as he felt his belt pulled from his waist and dropped to the floor, Arthur’s fingers immediately returning to slide his fly down and try to shove the pants down his hips. “Eager?” Eames nipped Arthur’s bottom lip, standing up to pull his pants and underwear off.

 

“I think that’s pretty obvious,” Arthur retorted, eyes skimming over Eames’ body appreciatively. But when Eames took a step back towards climbing onto the couch, Arthur held up a hand to stop him. “Go grab a condom and some lube from the shelf with the stereo,” Arthur instructed, voice confident and strong but eyes soft and shy.

 

Not needing to be told twice, Eames only stole one quick kiss before rushing over to the little shelf with the stereo on top and a few drawers underneath. He opened up the drawers and found a few foil packets of condoms and pocket-sized amounts of lube. Eames couldn’t help but freeze for a second, running his thumb over the tinfoil. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks that Arthur had done this before with a bunch of random strangers. He knew where the condoms and lube were, because he knew this routine.

 

But then Eames turned back and drank Arthur in, the dancer sprawled naked on the couch and watching Eames. His body spoke of familiarity with this routine, but his dark eyes looked worried as they watched Eames, like he knew what Eames was thinking. It wouldn’t make sense for Arthur to be nervous if a client was uncomfortable about this, but there was so much more riding on this for Arthur. Eames was Arthur’s ticket to freedom and, if Arthur’s words, kisses and glances could be trusted, Eames was also Arthur’s dream come true.

 

The discomfort and jealousy melted away, leaving Eames feeling light and warm as he walked back to the couch. He was smiling widely, silently wiping away Arthur’s own nervous look. Arthur might have been forced to do this with other clients before, but Arthur was _choosing_ to share this with Eames, and as soon as Eames got the dancer out of here, he wouldn’t have to share Arthur with anyone else as long as Arthur wanted to stay with him.

 

“Anything in particular you want?” Eames asked as he set the condom and lube on the table, carefully resting his weight on top of Arthur’s to pin him to the couch. Unrushed in his pace, Eames slowly kissed up Arthur’s side and flicked his tongue against a perked nipple before continuing to venture upward, tasting the salt on Arthur’s skin from his dance.

 

“You,” Arthur whispered, carding his fingers through Eames’ hair as Eames slowly edged up Arthur’s body.

 

“That’s not very specific,” Eames nipped Arthur’s collarbone, careful to avoid leaving any marks. He would have his chance to mark Arthur as his own soon enough.

 

Arthur whined in the back of his throat and tugged at Eames’ hair, pulling him upward. “In me,” Arthur elaborated, pleased smirk quirking his lips when Eames finally leaned down for a kiss. Eames kissed Arthur for as long as their bodies could wait, both of them already hard and wound tight with arousal. Then they broke apart and Arthur’s fingers explored down Eames’ back, sending shivers down his spine. “Position is up to you.”

 

“What a lovely thought,” Eames hummed, considering his options while mouthing lightly at Arthur’s neck. Then an idea came to him. Eames sat up carefully and moved to sit on the couch, pulling Arthur into his arms before the dancer could comment or complain. Reminiscent of the first night Eames had crossed paths with Arthur, Eames settled the dancer in his lap. Arthur’s knees locked against Eames’ hips, thighs squeezing Eames pleasantly as their lips met again, both of them face to face and able to run their hands greedily over each other’s bodies.

 

“You remembered,” Arthur praised against Eames’ neck before leaving a few love bites; just because Arthur couldn’t be marked didn’t mean Eames couldn’t be. “I like this position.”

 

“I know,” Eames smirked, mouthing along Arthur’s shoulder and neck. “I think it’s going to be one of my favourites as well,” he murmured against Arthur’s skin as he reached over and grabbed the condom and lube, setting the condom packet on the cushion beside him while fumbling with the lube to get it open. “You deserve a lot more ravishing than this,” Eames told Arthur as he coated his fingers. “But after your gorgeous dance I’m not confident about my ability to last.”

 

“I’m not looking for perfection,” Arthur said, a little breathless when Eames trailed his fingers down and tentatively pushed at Arthur’s opening. “I just want you. Besides...” Arthur’s voice trailed off when Eames slowly pushed his finger up more insistently, sinking one finger into Arthur’s body up to his first knuckle. Arthur whined and clenched around Eames before calming, relaxing around the intrusion. Arthur continued to speak when he regained a bit of composure. “This isn’t going to be our only time.”

 

“Very true,” Eames grinned, catching Arthur’s lips as he slid his first finger all the way into Arthur’s body. He groaned at the sensation of Arthur’s heat clenching around him, taking him in slowly in preparation for more.

 

Eames continued to kiss Arthur’s whines away as he began thrusting his finger in and out, working Arthur open with unhurried but insistent pressure. It was Arthur who asked for the second and then third finger, Eames quite happy to just fuck Arthur with his hand and watch the dancer squirm and moan. But he would never deny Arthur anything and carefully worked more fingers into Arthur’s hole, spreading him for Eames’ cock.

 

He knew he had been right when he warned Arthur that he couldn’t last long because Eames could already feel his own precome dribbling down his cock and onto his thighs, leaving them wet as he groaned and watched Arthur move. Arthur seemed to have no qualms about making noise or moving into Eames’ touch – rutting back onto his fingers and taking hold of Eames’ free hand to press it against their cocks, getting Eames to stroke them both together with one wide fist.

 

Eames didn’t want to hurt Arthur by rushing into things too quickly, but when Arthur fell forward to rest against Eames and panted, “I’m ready,” Eames wasn’t about to argue. He reached for the condom quickly and felt his breath quickening as Arthur watched him role the condom onto his twitching length with wide, dark eyes.

 

Using what was left of the lube, Eames smeared it across Arthur’s hole and around his own cock, abandoning that task as soon as he was done before he made himself come too soon. Then he gripped Arthur’s hips tightly, fingers slick as he pulled Arthur flush against him and positioned him. Eames lined them up, pressing the tip of his cock against Arthur’s hole before finally feeling the dancer sink down, taking him in slowly but without hesitation. Arthur was panting loudly as he sat down in Eames’ lap, body spread around Eames’ length, and he moaned obscenely when he was seated fully.

 

For a few moments Eames couldn’t move; he didn’t dare to move lest he come and waste this opportunity. His whole cock was encased in Arthur’s tight heat and he could feel each twitch and clench as Arthur shifted in his lap to adjust and get comfortable. Eames couldn’t help but grind up against Arthur slightly, his balls against the swell of Arthur’s ass as Eames grunted and tried to find some semblance of self control.

 

Arthur didn’t seem to be looking for any control from Eames though, because as soon as he was adjusted and had stopped making little pained whines he began to move. It started out like a lap dance, Arthur swirling his hips to the music Eames had almost forgotten about. Eames continued to hold Arthur’s hips but only loosely, letting the dancer move the way he knew how as Arthur ground down against him, keeping himself full of Eames’ cock as he swayed his hips.

 

It wasn’t long before Eames began to grip Arthur a little tighter, nails digging in slightly. Taking this as a sign, Arthur lifted himself onto his knees until just the tip of Eames’ cock was still spreading him open, paused, and then sat back down solidly. “ _Arthur_ ,” Eames moaned softly, pulling Arthur’s hips upward to feel the same sensation repeated again. Arthur sat up again, paused, and sat down a little harder. Both of them moaned together, Arthur clutching at Eames’ shoulders for support as they began a rhythm together.

 

Arthur would push himself up onto his knees, assisted by Eames’ hands pulling his hips or gripping his ass as his cock slowly slid free of Arthur’s body. Then they would pause, eyes locking and they occasionally shared a short, heated kiss before Eames handed over control and let Arthur sit down onto Eames’ cock with force, knocking the air from both of their lungs. Eames loved being trusted with some control but also liked feeling Arthur leading, knowing the dancer actually wanted to share this with him and was taking real pleasure from their movements.

 

Eames was breathing loudly, his heart racing as Arthur moved against him, their bodies overheated and sweaty whenever Arthur leaned closer to press his chest against Eames’, rutting his cock against Eames’ stomach. Eames just slid his hands over Arthur’s back and legs, occasionally squeezing his ass or fisting his cock to hear Arthur gasp and moan for more, pace quickening to follow Eames’ moving hand while working back onto his cock.

 

At the pace they were going there was no way they could hold on for long, both of them riding the other to their completion which was fast approaching. They were panting and whispering whatever came to mind; praise and promises of what they would do next time, and the time after that. The music fell into the background, forgotten and unnecessary as Arthur followed the beat of Eames’ frantic heart as they danced together.

 

Wanting to feel Arthur clench around him as he came, Eames gripped Arthur’s leaking cock in his hand and began stroking him in time with Arthur’s rising and falling, milking him of pleasure and precome. Arthur fell forward against him, sweaty hair plastered to his forehead and face against Eames’ shoulder as he panted and moved. Eames could feel Arthur trembling against him, hot breath fanning over Eames’ skin as Arthur took Eames’ cock again and again, crying out weakly each time Eames’ cock went deep enough to hit his prostate.

 

“Eames,” Arthur gasped as Eames pushed Arthur down hard, forcing himself balls-deep inside Arthur as he continued to tug at Arthur’s length. “ _Eames_ , oh fuck,” Arthur groaned, panting quickly and scraping his nails across Eames’ sweaty skin. “I want you to fill me. I want to feel your come.”

 

“ _Fuck_ Arthur,” Eames cursed, clenching his eyes closed as he fought to hold on, to enjoy a few more thrusts inside Arthur’s hot body. “I’m wearing a condom,” he groaned, slightly disappointed.

 

“Next time,” Arthur begged, abandoning his rise and fall motion to swirl his hips again, grinding repeatedly against Eames to push the head of Eames’ cock against his prostate. Eames could feel each time his cock hit Arthur’s prostate because the dancer would jolt and tense, clenching around Eames perfectly. “Promise me,” Arthur whispered a little brokenly, teeth sinking into Eames’ shoulder as he screamed and arched against Eames.

 

“I promise,” Eames groaned at the sensation of Arthur’s body rocking against his desperately, riding out his orgasm as his come splattered across Eames’ hand and stomach. He didn’t even have a choice in lasting longer as he felt Arthur’s body spasm around him, clenching and relaxing with the perfect heat and pressure to draw Eames’ own orgasm out with a low moan under his breath. His hips bucked up in a rush as though he really was trying to bury his come deep inside Arthur, and Eames wished dearly that he didn’t have a condom on.

 

Arthur calmed first, fully collapsing against Eames as he struggled to catch his breath. Eames took a few more minutes as his hips twitched upward, his come spilt. He brushed his hands up and down Arthur’s back just to hear him hum at the touch, their skin sticking together from the heat and sweat of their efforts. Eames wished they were at home so he could scoop Arthur up into his arms and put them both in a relaxing bath. That too would have to be saved for ‘ _next time_ ’.

 

“That was really good,” Arthur muttered, lips brushing over Eames’ stinging skin where Arthur’s teeth had left a bit of a mark. Eames felt like Arthur was trying to apologize for the bite but Eames didn’t mind; he liked knowing that he would see it every morning and night while he was parted from Arthur until next Wednesday.

 

In response Eames slipped his fingers into Arthur’s hair and pulled him up into a kiss, both of them too out of breath and exhausted to keep it up for long but kissing softly and sweetly for a brief moment. Eames slowly softened inside Arthur until his cock slipped free, and finally they were forced to separate long enough to clean up. Eames tied off the condom and threw all the packaging into the disposal before accepting a towel Arthur pulled out from a small cabinet tucked in the corner. Still feeling a bit playful even though he was worn out, Eames looped the towel around Arthur’s middle to pull them close together again, stealing another few greedy kisses before they both worked on wiping down their sweaty skin.

 

Arthur suggested they change back into their clothes but Eames wanted to feel Arthur’s naked body against him for as long as possible, catching his hand and leading him back to the couch. Eames ended up on his back with Arthur sprawled lazily on top of him, both of them holding the other close as they dozed. “What do you want to do for our last little while?” Arthur questioned at one point, finger tracing languid designs on Eames’ chest.

 

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Eames continued to stroke Arthur’s hair calmly, loving the way Arthur occasionally shivered at the caress. “I don’t want you to think of me as a client any longer,” he confessed against Arthur’s skin, lips hovering. “I want you to do what _you_ want to do. That will make me happy.”

 

Arthur was silent for a few minutes and Eames didn’t pester him, letting him think or relax. Then Arthur returned his lips to the bite on Eames’ shoulder, kissing it affectionately. “Can we dream again?” Arthur asked a little shyly, looking up at Eames when he glanced down.

 

“Absolutely,” Eames grinned, feeling his heart flutter again with something unfamiliar but warm and pleasant. He leaned down to kiss Arthur’s forehead and then lay back again. “Would you like to start?” he offered as he set an alarm on his watch, giving them plenty of time to return to reality and dress before they would have to force themselves through a goodbye. “Architecture is the structure of an entire dream.”

 

“You think I’m good enough to do that?” Arthur asked, a little wide eyed as he blushed.

 

“I _know_ you’re good enough,” Eames responded, stealing one more kiss before getting comfortable and flinging an arm around Arthur’s waist to keep him close.

 

“Alright,” Arthur’s smile was audible in his voice even though Eames couldn’t see it as Arthur rested his head back on Eames’ chest. Eames closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm his body and excited heart at having Arthur naked against him, intimate and sensual, and at the thought that they would be able to daydream together again. “Okay, we’re in a maze.”

 

“A maze?” Eames repeated curiously.

 

Arthur’s hand searched blindly and Eames caught it, lacing their fingers together. Only then did Arthur continue. “Yeah, a huge corn maze like the ones you go to on farms at Halloween. The ground is dirt but firm, and the corn is so thick we can’t see through to the next path. We’re standing at the entrance together.” Arthur’s hand tightened momentarily around Eames’ own.

 

“And what’s on the other side?” Eames whispered eagerly.

 

“I don’t know,” Arthur admitted, smiling against Eames’ skin. “Let’s find out.”

 

#

 

Eames had been sitting on the wet stone lip of the fountain in the market square for two hours. His clothes were soaked through and he was shivering constantly, body chilled from the rain that seemed determined to never cease. The farmer’s market was ongoing but slow and quiet, sellers hidden away under their tarps and only the bravest or most determined of customers darting from one stand to the next looking for their purchases.

 

A kind young woman selling pastries had invited Eames to stand under her tarp to keep from getting more soaked, but by that point Eames was beyond hope. He refused to move anyway; Arthur had told him about this fountain and had promised to meet him here. Eames didn’t want to miss Arthur by accident.

 

Eames was starting to get nervous though. He had arrived an hour early just in case Roger sent Arthur out to the market at a different time. But their meeting time – noon – had come and gone with no sign of the dancer. Eames kept telling himself that Arthur was just delayed, that he would arrive at any moment, but fear kept flitting through his mind. What if Roger had found out about their plan? What if someone else had overheard and told him? What if Arthur had thought Eames was joking and didn’t want to risk his disappointment by coming? What if Eames and Larry’s work had taken hold faster than they planned and the club was already being investigated, dancers under question?

 

What if, what if, what if.

 

All of Eames’ belongings were in a waterproof bag sitting by his feet; he didn’t carry much when he was working so he didn’t have much to deal with. All he had to do was pick up his bag, walk over to the next street to hail a taxi and go to the airport. His bank account had been more than replenished from his spending spree at the club after the job was complete. He would be able to disappear for a long time and live comfortably if he chose.

 

However, Eames didn’t pick up his bag or walk away from the fountain because he didn’t want to leave, or spend that time alone.

 

But as time slid by, rain pattering on his watch every time he checked it, Eames began to wonder. If Arthur wasn’t coming should Eames just pick up and go, forget about this week, or should he risk going back to the club that night to find the dancer? The two plane tickets Eames had purchased were for five that afternoon; they would both be useless if Eames went back to the club only to find out that Arthur had changed his mind.

 

Eames waited another thirty minutes, most of the market packing up for the day with the slow stream of potential customers. He watched them all, and the young woman selling pastries who kept sending worried glances back at him as she packed up as well. Eames sat there on the cold stone, body beginning to ache as he blinked rain from his lashes, telling himself not to cry.

 

“Here, I think you need this,” a soft voice caught Eames’ attention over the rain. Eames lifted his head slowly, already knowing it wasn’t Arthur but not wanting to be rude. The pastry girl was standing in front of him, holding out a small bag with what Eames assumed were pastries inside. The girl was giving him an uncertain smile, her hair and clothes quickly being soaked by the rain despite her coat.

 

Eames took the bag with numb, shaking fingers, trying to offer up a smile but failing. “Thank you.”

 

“Who are you waiting for?” she asked him, forcing herself to speak louder over the rain.

 

“A dream,” Eames sighed, blinking more rain from his eyes. “Nothing more, I suppose.”

 

“I don’t think I understand,” she began to say but that wasn’t what Eames was focused on.

 

He could have sworn he heard his name being called through the rain and he strained his senses, looking and listening desperately. And then it came again, a half drowned-out “Eames!” right as Arthur became visible through the sheets of gloomy rain.

 

Eames turned to the girl as he stood, grinning through his shivering. “He’s my dream,” he tried to explain, even though it didn’t really matter to him if she didn’t understand. “And he’s about to become my reality.”

 

Arthur was rushing through the packing-up market as quickly as he could on the slick cobblestones, fast approaching Eames. The dancer didn’t even slow down as he ran into Eames’ embrace, Eames wrapping his arms tightly around Arthur to keep him close. He could feel that Arthur was shivering as well and just as cold, and immediately he tried running his hands up and down Arthur’s arms to warm him.

 

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Arthur choked slightly, gasping for air like he had run all the way from the club. “Brian was arrested and Roger is under investigation. He wouldn’t let me go but the other dancers helped sneak me out. I don’t have anything with me, I’m sorry,” Arthur continued to ramble, not taking the time to breathe as he shivered violently in Eames’ embrace. “I was so worried you had left already...” Arthur sobbed once, so softly he almost wasn’t audible over the rain, and then he hugged Eames tightly.

 

Eames sent a brief smile to the pastry girl, who smiled at them with a look of relief and contentment Eames couldn’t understand. Then she gave a farewell nod before heading back to her stand to continue packing up. Arthur didn’t even seem to notice her existence or retreat, face buried against Eames’ soaked sweater and arms wound tightly around Eames’ neck. “Arthur,” Eames said loudly enough to catch his attention. As soon as Arthur glanced up Eames caught his lips, tasting salt that meant that there was more than just rain drops wetting Arthur’s cheeks.

 

It was only after their kiss when Eames pulled back to regard Arthur fully that he noticed the bruises peaking above the collar of Arthur’s jacket; Eames could only imagine what other damages lay beneath Arthur’s clothes. Arthur seemed to notice his look of horror because he blushed and pressed close to Eames again, hiding himself from view. “Roger was just angry. I’ve had worse. It’ll be okay.”

 

Eames held Arthur as tightly as he dared, feeling his vision blur with angry tears. Arthur had suffered because of Eames’ work. “I should have gotten you out of there before we did the job,” Eames lamented.

 

“It’s okay,” Arthur told him. “I promise. This is better. With Roger and the club under investigation, the dancers have already been rescued and taken away from him. It’ll be hard for them to start from scratch but at least they’ll be free now.”

 

“But Arthur...” Eames trailed off, hand hovering over Arthur’s neck, fearful of causing further pain.

 

“I’m free, Eames,” Arthur cut him off strongly. “And I’m with you. It’s worth a few bruises as long as you’ll still have me.”

 

“Still have you..?” Eames echoed, dumbfounded. “ _Darling_ ,” he whispered as he swooped down for another kiss. This kiss had everything he wanted to tell Arthur, even if he didn’t have the confidence to voice the words yet. He poured all his warmth and affection and love into it, heart flying when he could feel Arthur doing the same. “I’m never going to let you go,” Eames promised when they broke away, their lips inches apart.

 

“Good,” Arthur clutched Eames a little tighter. “I don’t want you to.”

 

Eames pressed a softer, reassuring kiss to Arthur’s lips this time and then pulled away. “You’re utterly soaked and shivering. Let’s pick you up some clothes on our way to the airport, alright?” Eames suggested as he forced himself to let go of Arthur.

 

He turned around to pick up his bag and the little pastry – saved from the rain by the little waterproof baggie. Eames planned to put it in his bag but Arthur took the bag from Eames’ hand, looking at it curiously. “Is this a raspberry Danish?”

 

“Um...” Eames grunted, trying to squint through the bag to see.

 

“I think it is,” Arthur said, also inspecting the Danish through the bag. “These are my favourites! I never had the money for one, but this girl helping her parents at the pastry stand would sneak one to me occasionally.”

 

Suddenly the relief and contentment in the girl’s smile made sense and Eames couldn’t help but smile as well. “That’s a lovely coincidence because she brought me that right before you arrived. You didn’t see her when you rushed up.”

 

“Oh!” Arthur exclaimed, glancing back quickly only to find that the market square had been packed up and abandoned. “Oh I missed her. I wish I could have told her about you.”

 

“I think she figured it out,” Eames kissed Arthur’s forehead. “Are you ready to leave?”

 

Arthur continued staring back at the empty square for a few seconds before turning back to Eames with a smile. “Yes, absolutely.” Arthur let Eames put the pastry away in his bag to keep it safe temporarily before they held hands and headed for the street to find a taxi. “Eames,” Arthur began, the rain still making it hard to hear but otherwise sliding off Eames’ shoulders without notice now that he could feel the warmth of Arthur’s hand against his. “Can we try dreaming like you explained sometime?”

 

“Of course,” Eames smiled, excited at the thought. “But let’s focus on finding us some dry clothes first, okay?”

 

Arthur leaned over for a quick kiss. “Alright,” he said, their hands still clasped together as they headed off to start a new chapter of their lives.

**Author's Note:**

> **You can check out[here](http://onewhositswiththeturtles.tumblr.com/) to follow my Tumblr for info about me and story updates.**
> 
> **Fanart for this story:**  
> 
> ["Are you with me?" by SailingOnTheWind on DeviantART](http://sailingonthewind.deviantart.com/art/Are-you-with-me-328730564)
> 
>    
> ["Are you with me?" (same drawing) on Tumblr](http://havingafoodfightonthemoon.tumblr.com/post/32110998988/i-finally-get-in-the-mood-to-draw-and-what-do-i)


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